Hector 


'  v'l  I  ^vft«  H-^^^ 


^   ^^^r^^x.,^    / ^Ct^^.-'i^.i^^^ 


U^X^.  /tf^ , 


HECTOR. 


By  the  Same  Author. 

CASTLE      BLAIR. 

A  Story  of  Youthful  Days. 

"  There  is  a  quite  lovely  little  book  just  come  out  about  chil- 
dren, '  Castle  Blair.'  .  .  .  The  book  is  good,  and  lovely,  and  true, 
having  the  best  description  of  a  noble  child  in  it  (Winnie)  that  I 
ever  read ;  and  nearly  the  best  description  of  the  next  best  thing  — 
a  noble  dog."  —  John  Ruskin. 


iaiia!i;i^[iii')linii.'aii 


Al.L:i,;!?;ii::i;!!!/iia:jr!!l!!llillll!llllll!l|||||i!|i||!l!l!i:i:!:li!:i:i^^ 


HECTOR. 


HECTOR. 


A  STORY. 


BY 

FLORA    L.    SHAW. 

AUTHOR  OF    "  CASTLE   BLAIR." 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS    BROTHERS, 

1890, 


A  *J  W  vy  • 


HECTOR. 


CHAPTER   I. 

TT  has  been  an  exciting  day  forme,  Grand'mere 
says,  and  she  has  sent  me  to  bed  early.  But 
I  do  not  want  to  sleep ;  and  as  I  sit  here  in  the 
quiet,  it  is  not  of  to-day  that  I  think,  but  of  the 
old  time  long  ago  when  little  Hector  flashed  like 
a  new  star  into  our  life.  Every  one  forgets  him 
now  but  I.     I  will  never  forget  him. 

First,  I  heard  of  his  coming.  It  was  a  quiet 
spring  day  in  April.  The  peach-trees  and  pears 
in  the  orchard  were  in  full  blossom,  the  hedges 
were  bursting  into  leaf,  and  I  sat  in  the  porch 
spinning  by  Grand'mere,  looking  down  over  the 
yellow  mustard  fields  and  vineyards  red  with 
opening  anemones. 

Grand'mere  was  busy  counting  off  the  stitches 
for  the  heel  of  the  stocking  that  she  was  knit- 
ting, so  she  had  told  me  to  hold  my  tongue  when 
T  chattered,  and  I  was  trying  to  amuse  myself  by 


6  HECTOR. 

listening  to  the  blackbirds  piping  and  singing 
in  the  great  stone-pine  by  the  door ;  when 
presently  I  saw  the  white  dornette  of  Soeur 
Amelie  coming  round  the  elder  clump  at  the 
end  of  the  lane. 

I  never  cared  much  to  see  her  in  the  morning, 
for  in  the  morning  she  came  to  teach  me  to 
read  and  write,  and  learn  L'Histoire  Sainte, 
and  as  the  money  Grand'mere  paid  her  for  that 
was  to  go  to  build  a  chapel  for  the  sisters  at 
Baitgz,  I  felt  always  very,  very  wicked  if  I  was 
not  good.  But  when  she  came  in  the  afternoon 
it  was  generally  to  chat  over  the  news  with 
Grand'mere,  and  I  liked  to  hear  the  news.  It 
was  so  dull  to  listen  all  day  to  the  cooing  of  the 
pigeons  up  on  the  roof  and  the  click  of  the 
needles  in  Grand'mere's  stocking. 

To-day,  as  she  came  closer  in  sight,  I  saw 
that  she  had  a  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  I  met  the  postman  at  the  bottom  of  the 
lane,"  she  said,  "and  I  brought  your  letter  up 
to  save  him  the  walk." 

Grand'mere  so  seldom  received  a  letter  that  I 
felt  my  own  cheeks  flush  with  surprise,  and  I 
glanced  up  eager  to  see  what  she  would  do.  But 
the  stitches  of  her  heel  were  not  counted  yet, 
and    she    went   on    aloud  —  sixteen,    seventeen, 


HECTOR.  7 

eighteen — not  stretching  her  hand  for  the  letter 
till  the  heel  was  safely  separate  on  the  third 
needle. 

Then,  when  she  had  looked  at  the  post-mark 
and  examined  the  writing,  she  glanced  down 
sharply  at  my  eager  face,  and  said  as  she  pulled 
out  her  spectacles  : 

"  I  hear  the  hens  clucking.  They  are  hungry, 
go  you  and  give  them  their  food." 

I  could  have  cried  for  disappointment,  but 
Grand'm^re  would  never  be  gainsaid.  So  I 
got  up  very  slowly  and  went  away ;  and  the  big 
hens  got  all  the  corn  that  day,  for  I  took  no 
thought  of  the  chickens,  but  just  spilled  the 
Indian  corn  angrily  about  the  yard,  till  Madelon 
put  her  head  out  of  the  kitchen  window  and 
remarked  to  Jean  : 

"  Oh,  the  famous  housekeeper !  We  shall 
show  fat  fowls  in  the  market  next  Saturday." 
And  that  made  me  shut  down  the  corn-bin  with 
a  bang  and  run  straight  back  to  the  porch  to  es- 
cape from  Jean's  stupid  laughter.  I  could  see 
Soeur  Amelie's  cornette  flapping  as  I  came  round 
the  corner  of  the  house,  which  proved  she  was 
in  full  flow  of  conversation.  The  letter  had  dis- 
appeared ;  no  doubt  into  Grand'mere's  great 
apron  pocket,  to  keep  company  with  the  keys 


8  HECTOR. 

and  her  wool  ball.  But  I  hoped  yet  to  glean 
something  from  the  conversation. 

Grand'mere's  eyes  were  unusually  bright,  and 
the  decided  look  on  her  face  piqued  my  curiosity 
to  the  quick.  I  had  never  seen  her  look  so,  ex- 
cept at  harvest-times  or  when  there  was  business 
to  be  done. 

Her  eye  fell  on  me  the  moment  I  came  round 
the  corner. 

"  Fast  day  for  the  fowls,  hein  } "  she  said  ;  but 
the  next  moment  she  laughed  good-humoredly, 
and  while  I  blushed  scarlet  to  find  myself  thus 
found  out  she  called  me   to  her,  and  said  : 

"  After  all,  the  news  concerns  you  more  than 
any  of  us,  since  it  is  you  who  will  gain  a  com- 
panion ;  and  I  do  not  see  why  you  should  not 
hear  that  the  son  of  your  cousin  Marie,  who  died 
last  year  in  England,  is  coming  to  live  with  us. 
He  is  an  orphan,  like  you.  His  father  too  is 
lately  dead,  and  he  is  less  happy  than  you,  for 
his  grandparents  do  not  want  him  at  all,  but 
gladly  send  him  to  his  mother's  relations. 
Therefore  his  heart  may  likely  enough  be  sore 
when  he  comes,  and  you  will  do  your  best  to 
be  kind  to  him." 

"  Poor  child,"  she  continued  to  Sceur  Am^lie; 
"  neither  father  nor  mother  now,  and  I  remem- 


HECTOR. 


ber  how  his  mother  rejoiced  over  him  not  two 
years  ago.  Beautiful,  she  told  me,  and  strong 
and  clever  like  his  father,  but  even  then  the 
family  did  not  love  him  ;  their  hearts  were 
always  of  ice  for  his  mother.  They  were  jeal 
ous,  perhaps;  and  now  —  ah  bah!  they  are  a 
selfish  people,  the  English.  With  their  droit 
d'ainesse,  they  have  no  place  for  the  orphans  of 
younger  children.  Here  he  will  find  no  gran- 
deurs, but  there  is  enough,  thank  God,  of  every- 
thing we  need ;  and  so  far  as  heart  goes,  this 
little  one  will  love  him.  As  for  me,  I  loved  his 
mother ;  I  am  too  old  now  to  love  new-comers." 
Grand'mdre  patted  my  head  while  she  spoke, 
and  I  kissed  her  brown  wrinkled  hand,  and 
promised  that  I  would  love  him  for  both  of  us. 
I  did  not  say  anything  more,  for  Grand'm^re 
used  not  to  like  children  to  talk  much  ;  but  I  sat 
there,  and  thought  of  the  promise  I  had  made 
while  Grand'mere  and  Soeur  Amelie  continued 
to  talk  ;  and  the  more  I  thought,  the  more  I  felt 
that  I  would  like  to  love  little  Hector,  What 
Grand'mere  and  Soeur  Amelie  were  saying  above 
my  head  made  me  picture  him  in  my  heart  very 
sad  and  lonely.  He  had  no  sisters  or  brothers, 
they  said.  No  more  had  I  ;  and  I  wondered  if 
he  sometimes  wished  for  a  brother  as  I  had  some- 


lo  UECTOB. 

times  wished  for  a  little  sister.  I  had  never 
known  my  father  and  mother,  so  it  was  no  grief 
to  me  to  lose  them  ;  but  he  had  known  his.  I 
thought  of  his  mother,  rejoicing  over  him  ;  and 
then  of  her,  dead  and  cold ;  and  he  left  all  alone 
to  the  jealous  family  ;  till  the  picture  of  his  deso- 
lation brought  tears  to  my  eyes,  and  I  had  to  try 
quickly  to  think  of  something  else,  for  fear 
Grand'mere  might  see  and  ask  me  what  was  the 
matter.  I  listened  then  with  all  my  ears  to  what 
Grand'mere  and  Soeur  Amelie  were  saying,  and 
I  understood  enough  to  know  soon  that  Hector's 
grandfather  was  a  rich  English  milord,  but  that 
Hector's  father  had  been  the  youngest  son,  and 
his  family  had  been  angry  with  his  imprudent 
marriage  ;  and  now  that  he  was  dead.  Hector's 
uncles  were  jealous  because  the  boy  was  so 
strong  and  fine,  while  they  had  no  sons  yet  to 
inherit  their  wealth.  Already  I  felt  a  sisterly 
pride  in  him  ;  I  was  glad  to  know  that  he  was 
strong  and  fine.  I  remembered  suddenly  with 
new  interest  how  I  had  often  heard  Grand'mere's 
friends  congratulate  her  on  the  healthy  air  of 
Salarct,  and  I  looked  over  our  fields  with  almost 
a  wicked  joy  at  the  thought  that  they  would  make 
him  every  day  stronger  and  finer,  till  he  grew  up 
wonderful,  like  the  Prince  Charming  of  a  fairy 


HECTOR.  31 


tale,  and  went  home  to  astonish  his  wicked  un- 
cles. His  uncles  were  going,  Grand'mere  said, 
to  have  plenty  of  sons.  I  did  not  know  how 
that  would  be,  but  I  took  for  granted  beforehand 
that  our  Hector  would  be  more  beautiful  and 
more  clever  than  any  of  his  cousins. 

Already  he  was  to  me  our  Hector,  and  from 
that  day  till  the  day  he  came  I  scarcely  ceased  to 
think  of  him.      Salaret  was  like  a  new  place 
since   it   had   this  new  interest.      I  had  never 
thought  about  it  before.     It  had   been    always 
there,   standing,  just  as  it  does  now,  on  the  side 
of  the  hill  with   the  vineyards  sloping  down  in 
front  and  the  orchard  sloping  up  to  the  chestnut 
wood  behind  ;  and  I  had  been  accustomed  year 
after  year  to  watch  the  blackbirds  build  in  the 
big  stone-pine  by  the  door,  and  the  ducks  and 
geese  swim   round  the  little  stagnant  pond  in 
front,  while  the  pigs  and  fowls  and  oxen  tramp- 
led the  soft  slush  of  the  big  farmyard,  and  the 
laborers   came  and  went,   without   ever   asking 
myself    whether   all    this    was    pretty   or   plea- 
sant.    It  was  part  of  my  life,  and  before  that 
time  I  scarcely  remember  it ;  but  I  remember 
quite  distinctly  now  how  it  looked  on  the  day 
that   Hector  came ;    and,  wherever  I  spend  my 
future  life,  it  is  the  picture  of  Salaret,  as  I  saw 


HECTOB. 


it  that  day,  which  will  always  remain  with  me  as 
the  picture  of  home. 

Everything  had  been  made  ready  for  Hector. 
Madelon  had  said  that  she  would  love  no  English 
boy.  Her  father  lived  in  the  mill  which  was  the 
very  last  bit  of  land  the  English  ever  held  in 
France,  and  he  remembered  the  English  Duke 
of  Wellington ;  so  she  thought  she  knew  all 
about  the  English.  She  said  they  were  hard  and 
gluttonous,  and  very  little  civilized ;  and  she 
used  to  tease  me  about  Hector,  saying  before- 
hand that  he  would  be  ugly  like  a  monkey.  But 
for  all  that,  she  said  the  Duke  was  a  great  milord ; 
and  when  she  heard  that  Hector's  grandfather 
was  to  accompany  him,  she  had  worked  like  four 
to  make  the  house  ready  for  the  occasion.  It 
was  clean  now,  from  top  to  bottom.  In  the 
drawing-room  the  windows  had  been  opened  and 
the  floor  fresh  waxed  and  polished  ;  a  faint  scent 
of  honey  rose  from  the  shining  boards  and  mixed 
with  the  sweet  smell  of  the  summer  wash  which 
the  breeze  from  the  garden  blew  out  of  the  clean 
white  dimity  curtains.  The  brass  dogs  on  the 
hearth  had  been  polished  ;  I  had  myself  dusted 
the  old-fashioned  chimney-piece.  Grand'mere 
did  not  like  to  have  flowers  brought  into  the 
house,  but  the  peach-trees  outside  were  in  full 


HECTOR.  13 

blossom,  and  their  pink  boughs  crossed  each 
other  before  the  open  windows,  throwing  rosy 
reflections  on  the  floor. 

Upstairs,  too.  Hector's  own  little  room  was 
ready.  Madelon  had  scrubbed  it  beautifully 
clean;  Grand'm^re  herself  had  given  out  a  pair 
of  the  best  linen  sheets  for  his  bed.  They  let 
me  give  him  my  patchwork  quilt,  and  everything 
looked  as  comfortable  as  we  could  make  it. 
Even  the  pigeons  seemed  pleased  as  they  cooed 
on  the  window-sill  and  looked  in.  Then,  when 
there  was  nothing  more  to  do,  and  I  had  brushed 
and  plaited  my  hair,  put  on  my  Sunday  dress  and 
one  of  my  Sunday  white  pinafores,  Grand'mere 
took  pity  on  my  impatience,  and  told  me  to  run 
down  the  lane  and  watch  till  I  saw  a  carriage 
in  sight  on  the  high  road.  At  the  bottom  of  our 
lane  there  was  a  mound,  with  an  old  wooden  cross 
upon  it,  and  from  the  top  of  the  mound  you  could 
see  for  a  mile  or  two  along  the  road  ;  so  I  ran 
down  through  the  lane  where  the  hedges  were 
all-in  flower  with  white  thorn  and  gorse  and  peri- 
winkles, and  climbed  on  the  mound  to  watch. 
But  the  carriage  kept  me  waiting  a  long  time, 
and  while  I  waited,  to  make  the  time  pass,  I 
tried  to  fancy  myself  in  Hector's  place,  and  to 
Tmagine  what  then  I  should  think  of  the  new 
home  to  which  I  was  cominsr.     Instead  of  watch- 


14  HECTOB. 

ing  the  high  road,  I  had  soon  turned  my  back 
upon  it,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  really 
looked  at  Salaret.  It  is  only  a  farmhouse,  and 
to  my  childish  eyes  it  did  not  look  nearly  grand 
enough,  with  its  modest  white  walls  and  long 
straggling  expanse  of  red-tiled  roof  which 
stetched  in  irregular  gables  over  house  and 
stables  and  storehouses  ;  but  the  orchard  spread 
up  the  hill  behind  like  a  sun-touched  cloud  of 
white  and  pink,  the  chestnut  wood  above  was 
bursting  into  brilliant  green,  and  in  the  lovely 
lights  and  shadows  of  the  spring  afternoon, 
the  place  touched  my  heart  even  then  with 
a  tender  and  homelike  feeling.  I  thought  that 
if  I  could  have  wished  it  more  grand,  I  could 
hardly  have  wished  it  more  beautiful,  and  I  hoped 
that  little  Hector  would  be  glad  to  live  there 
with  me. 

Grand'm^re  stood  waiting  under  the  pine-tree 
by  the  porch,  and  I  was  looking  at  her  and  at 
the  pigeons  pecking  and  strutting  on  the  path 
at  her  feet,  when  suddenly  above  the  noise  of 
the  forge  at  the  other  side  of  the  road  a  sound  of 
wheels  and  trotting  horses  fell  on  my  ear,  and, 
before  I  had  time  even-  to  jump  off  my  post  of 
observation,  a  grand  carriage  drawn  by  a  pair 
of  horses  had  dashed  round  the  corner  and  was 
rolling  in  front  of  me  up  the  lane. 


HECTOB.  15 


CHAPTER  II. 

''  I  ^O  try  to  overtake  the  equipage  was  useless, 
and  to  run  in  the  cloud  of  dust  it  raised 
would  have  been  to  make  myself  dirty  as  well  as 
late.  So,  mortified  as  I  was  to  have  missed 
the  first  sight  of  Hector  after  all,  and  trembling 
with  shyness  at  the  thought  of  entering  the 
drawing-room  already  full  of  strangers,  I  went 
slowly  back  to  the  house. 

Grand'mere  and  her  visitors  had  gone  in  by 
the  time  I  reached  the  door;  but  there,  standing 
in  the  porch  alone,  with  his  head  in  the  air  and 
his  eyes  fixed  eagerly  on  the  thick  branches  of 
the  stone-pine,  was  a  little  boy,  who  must,  I 
knew,  be  Hector.  He  wore  a  loose  suit  of  rough 
black  serge,  made  with  a  wide  collar  which  fell 
back  upon  his  shoulders,  leaving  his  throat  and 
chest  bare,  like  a  sailor's,  to  the  air.  His  hat 
was  in  his  hand,  and  the  sun  streamed  upon  the 
m.asses  of  ruddy  gold  hair  which,  though  cut 
short,  yet  waved  loosely  above  his  strong  square 


i6  HECTOR. 

forehead.  Everything  about  him  was  strong  and 
firm,  the  attitude  in  which  he  stood,  the  intensity 
of  his  gaze  into  the  pine-tree,  the  curves  of  the 
white  throat  and  uplifted  chin.  He  was  not  the 
least  bit  like  what  I  had  expected,  but  I  had 
time  to  look  at  brm  thoroughly,  for  he  stood  just 
in  the  middle  of  the  porch,  so  that  I  could  not 
pass  into  the  house ;  and  though  on  first  seeing 
him  I  had  put  out  my  hand  and  stammered  forth 
the  best  greeting  that  I  could,  he  did  not  seem 
for  some  time  to  see  me.  As  he  would  neither 
move  out  of  my  way  nor  take  any  notice  of  me 
himself,  I  waited  quietly  on  the  step  beneath 
him,  and  my  gaze  followed  his  to  the  depths  of 
the  pine  foliage  ;  then  after  a  moment  or  two  he 
looked  down,  and  his  first  words,  spoken  in 
Frenqh  as  pure  as  my  own,  and  as  quietly  as 
though  he  had  known  me  all  my  life,  were : 

"  Are  they  thrushes  or  blackbirds .''  I  can't 
get  a  sight  of  one." 

I  was  red  all  over,  not  for  shyness  now,  but 
for  real  pleasure  to  hear  his  voice  and  to  be  able 
to  tell  him  what  he  wanted  to  know. 

"  They  are  blackbirds  ;  and  from  the  window 
of  your  bedroom  you  can  see  right  into  one  of 
the  nests." 

"  Right  in,  so  as  to  see  the  eggs .''     Are  there 


HECTOR.  17 

any  eggs  ?  Do  you  think  we  shall  see  the  young 
ones  when  they  are  hatched  ?" 

He  turned  fully  to  me  now,  and  looked  straight 
into  my  face,  his  own  face  all  aglow  with  inter- 
est. I  saw  that  his  eyes  were  dark  grey,  and  I 
thought  they  were  the  brightest  I  had  ever  seen. 

"  I  think  they  will  be  hatched  soon,"  I  said, 
"  because  they  have  been  laid  a  long  time  now ; 
one  might  even  come  out  to-day." 

"  Let  us  go  up,"  he  said  eagerly.  "  Let  us  go 
up  ;  perhaps  it  will  be  out  already." 

In  another  moment  we  were  upstairs  in  his 
room,  and  without  seeming  even  to  see  the  cup- 
board of  carved  oak,  or  the  patchwork  quilt,  or 
the  new  mat  Grand'mere  had  bought  for  his  bed- 
side, he  flung  himself  half  out  of  the  window  in 
his  anxiety  to  peep  into  the  nest.  The  mother 
bird  was  sitting ;  we  could  not  see  the  eggs,  but 
she  looked  at  us  with  soft  bright  eyes  from  be- 
neath her  interlaced  canopy  of  green  spikes,  and 
I  saw  at  once  that  Hector  would  no  more  have 
frightened  her  than  I. 

He  looked  at  her  very  quietly  for  a  time, 
his  grey  eyes  sparkling  with  interest ;  then  he 
asked  me  in  a  whisper  if  I  knew  much  about 
birds. 

I  whispered  "  No,  that  I  only  liked  watching 
2 


l8  HECTOR. 

them  sometimes,  but  that  there  were  a  great 
many  at  Salaret." 

"Ah,  that's  the  way  it  is  with  girls,"  he  said, 
"  they  never  know  much  about  things  ;  have  you 
a  bird  book  ? "  I  might  have  been  offended, 
only  that  he  spoke  so  quietly  I  saw  he  did  not 
mean  to  be  rude,  and  then  I  could  not  help 
thinking  that  with  regard  to  me  it  was  quite 
true.  I  did  not  know  much  about  anything,  I 
did  not  even  know  if  we  had  a  bird  book,  and  I 
was  so  ashamed  to  confess  my  ignorance  that  I 
stammered  and  grew  red  as  I  answered  that  I 
did  not  think  we  had. 

He  looked  round  at  me.  It  was  the  first  time 
he  had  really  looked  at  me  since  we  met,  and 
said  quite  kindly,  as  though  he  were  talking  to 
a  very  little  child,  "  Do  you  know  how  to  read.-*" 

His  question  made  me  grow  redder  than  ever. 
I  was  nine  years  old  then  ;  I  had  been  able  to 
read  for  the  last  four  years,  and  I  told  him  so 
with  a  little  indignation  piercing  through  my 
cautiously  whispered  tones.  I  was  glad  at  all 
events  to  let  him  know  that  I  was  not  so  great 
an  ignoramus  as  he  thought. 

"  You  did  not  seem  to  know  the  books  of  the 
house,"  he  said,  "and  I  want  to  find  out  if  that 
A^  a  real   blackbird  or  a  ring-ousel.     But  it  is 


HECTOR.  19 

rather  early  in  the  year  for  a  ring-ousel  to  be 
hatching." 

He  made  way  for  me  as  he  spoke,  and  I  plant- 
ed my  elbows  down  beside  his  on  the  window- 
sill.  The  window  was  narrow,  so  there  was  but 
just  room  for  us  both,  and  we  remained  thus 
wedged  tightly,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  while  we 
continued  our  whispered  conversation.  Under 
the  strangely  alert  gentle  eyes  of  the  blackbird 
our  intimacy  grew  fast.  I  told  Hector  man) 
things  about  Salaret.  I  pointed  out  to  him  the 
budding  woods  down  in  the  hollow,  and  told  him 
of  the  numbers  of  birds  he  would  find  down 
there.  I  told  him  of  the  great  woodpigeon  hunts 
held  up  in  the  hills  at  the  time  of  passage ;  of 
how  we  caught  ortolans  after  the  corn  harvest ; 
of  everything  that  I  thought  would  interest  him ; 
but  at  last,  when  I  was  telling  him  how  the 
woodpeckers  ate  the  whole  shutter  of  one  of  our 
windows,  he  suddenly  interrupted  me  to  know  if 
we  had  any  gold-crested  wrens. 

He  used  the  Latin  name,  and  by  this  time  I 
was  no  longer  afraid  of  him  ;  so  I  laughed,  and 
said  quite  saucily  that  I  did  not  understand 
Latin. 

"  And  it  seems  that  I  do  not  speak  French," 
he  said,  "  for   I   don't  know  the   French   name. 


20  .   HECTOR. 

What  are  we  going  to  do  in  order  to  arrive  at 
understanding  each  other  ? " 

We  looked  at  one  another  and  laughed,  and 
then  I  saw  what  a  merry  face  he  had. 

"  Come  downstairs  to  my  grandfather,"  he 
said,  "he  knows  everything,  and  he'll  tell  us  the 
French  name." 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  thought  of  the 
grown-up  people,  and  all  my  shyness  returned  as 
I  followed  Hector  downstairs. 

But  Hector  did  not  apparently  know  what 
shyness  meant.  He  walked  straight  into  the 
drawing-room,  which  seemed  to  be  full  of  the 
silks  and  laces  of  two  very  grand  ladies  ;  and 
profiting  by  a  pause  in  the  conversation,  asked 
something  in  English  of  an  old  gentleman  who 
sat  on  the  sofa  beside  Grand'm^re.  But,  instead 
of  answering  his  question,  the  gentleman  asked 
him  in  return  where  he  had  been  and  what  he 
had  been  doing  ;  and  all  eyes  then  turned  to  me. 

"Ah,"  Grand'mere  said  good-naturedly,  taking 
Hector's  two  strong  white  hands  in  hers,  "you 
have  been  making  friends  with  Z^lie,  I  see. 
Children,"  she  added  to  Hector's  grandfather, 
"  are  best  left  to  themselves  to  become  ac- 
quainted. In  the  age  of  growth  new  friend- 
ships are  quickly  made.      That  is  nature,  and 


HECTOE.  21 

we  can  do  little  to  make  or  mar  it.  For  the 
rest  Zelie  wishes  so  much  to  have  a  companion 
of  her  own  age,  that  had  he  been  ugly  as  Satan 
she  would  always  have  found  him  more  beauti- 
ful than  an  old  grandmother  who  has  had  the 
time  to  forget  that  she  ever  was  a  child." 

Grand'mere  looked  at  me  so  kindly  as  she 
spoke  that  I  forgot  the  strangers  who  were 
there,  and  in  spite  of  my  shyness  I  threw  my 
arms  round  her  neck  and  whispered  : 

"  However  much  I  love  him,  you  are  always 
Grand'mere."  I  think  that  pleased  Grand'mere, 
for  she  liked  to  know  that  I  loved  her.  But 
Hector  was  looking  puzzled. 

"  Zelie,"  he  said.     "  What's  Zelie  ?  " 

Grand'mere  and  I  both  laughed  at  his  bewil- 
dered expression. 

"  Oh  !  We  don't  know  that  yet," 'said  Grand- 
mere  with  a  sarcastic  note  in  her  voice.  "  This 
is  Zelie,"  and  she  laid  her  hand  upon  my 
shoulder. 

Instantly  Hector  turned  towards  me  a  face 
which  made  my  heart  beat  for  pleasure,  the 
beaming  face  of  recognition  one  turns  to  a 
friend. 

"You!"  he  exclaimed,  "are  you  Zdlie  .-^  Of 
course,  yes,  of  course  ;  I  had  forgotten  there 
was  to  be  a  little  girl." 


HECTOR. 


"  You  had  forgotten  there  was  to  be  a  little 
girl?"  repeated  Grand'mere.  "And  for  what 
did  you  take  her  then  during  the  hour  you  have 
passed  together?" 

Hector  looked  at  me.  Then  his  face  wrinkled 
into  laughter,  and  he  replied  with  twinkling 
eyes  : 

"  For  a  bird  book,  I  think,  madame," 

"  And  a  bad  one  too,"  I  murmured,  with  his 
speech  about  girls  knowing  nothing  much  rank- 
ling a  little  in  my  memory.  Every  one  laughed 
at  his  bit  of  impudence,  and  Grand'mere  said, 
"Allons,  she  had  better  prove  her  love  to  you 
by  giving  you  something  to  eat.  It  is  the  part 
women  play  towards  men  like  you.  Take  him 
away,  Zelie,  and  give  him  some  goiiter.  It  is 
probable  that  he  likes  nuts  and  jams  even  better 
than  you  like  them  yourself." 

I  had  prepared  a  gotiter  for  Hector  before  he 
came.  I  asked  him  now  if  he  would  like  to 
have  it  out  of  doors,  and  as  he  said  he  would,  we 
were  soon  seated  under  a  fig-tree  at  the  corner, 
enjoying  our  little  picnic.  That  is  to  say,  I  en- 
joyed it.  I  don't  know  whether  Hector  did  In 
anything  like  the  same  degree.  To  have  a  com- 
panion at  last,  and  to  know  that  he  was  not 
going  away  ;  to  think  that  to-morrow  I  should 


EECTOB.  23 

wake  up  to  find  him  still  in  the  house,  and  that 
the  next  day,  and  the  next  day,  and  the  next,  he 
would  still  be  there  to  share  my  life ;  that  when 
the  fruit  was  ripe  he  would  be  there  to  pick  it 
with  me ;  that  when  the  hay  was  cut  we  should 
play  in  it  together ;  that  when  the  maize  was 
reaped  he  would  work  with  me  at  the  winnow- 
ing;  that  we  should  rejoice  together  when  the 
time  came  to  cut  the  grapes ;  that  when  Soeur 
Amelie  gave  us  lessons,  he  would  learn  them  by 
my  side — to  know,  in  fact,  that  life  was  never  go- 
ing to  be  lonely  any  more — filled  me  with  a  delight 
almost  greater  than  I  could  contain.  The  food 
we  were  eating  seemed  to  me  to  taste  nicer  than 
it  had  ever  tasted  before  ;  but  I  scarcely  cared  to 
eat  for  the  pleasure  of  watching  Hector,  and  try- 
ing to  slip  the  best  pieces  on  his  plate.  He  did 
not  seem  to  notice  much  what  he  was  eating  or 
what  I  was  doing,  but  lay  on  his  side  with  one 
leg  curled  round  the  other  and  one  elbow  planted 
on  the  ground,  and  gazed  about  him  in  silent  in- 
terest. From  time  to  time  he  asked  me  a  ques- 
tion which  I  answered  to  the  best  of  my  ability, 
but  he  did  not  seem  to  wish  to  talk,  and  I  was 
content  to  be  silent.  His  face  was  like  an  ani- 
mated conversation  all  the  time,  it  was  so  full  of 
energy  and  sympathy ;  and  in  watching  it  I  be- 


24  HECTOR. 


came  interested  to  a  degree  which  left  us  both 
unaware  of  how  little  we  talked. 

I  sat  facing  the  house ;  he  lay  opposite  to  me, 
looking  down  over  the  lane  and  the  vineyards 
beyond.  Presently  I  saw  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  go  up  and  his  eyes  light  with  laughter. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at .-'  "  I  asked. 

"At  the  face  which  is  coming  up  the  path; 
it's  exactly  like  an  india-rubber  cracker  in  a  cor- 
nette.     Look  ! " 

I  looked  round  to  see  to  my  horror  Soeur 
Amelie,  whom  I  had  always  been  taught  to  rev- 
erence as  a  saint,  and  whom  I  considered  as  far 
above  the  shafts  of  criticism  as  M.  le  Cure  or 
Grand'mere  herself ;  and  to  make  matters  worse 
the  truth  of  Hector's  observation  forced  itself 
upon  me  the  instant  my  eyes  fell  on  her.  Her 
face  was  like  the  india-rubber  face  of  a  cracker. 
It  was  very  small  and  very  wrinkled,  the  tiny 
mouth  and  nose  and  chin  almost  disappearing  in 
rather  overhanging  cheeks.  Cheeks,  lips,  and 
all  were  yellow  like  old  ivory ;  the  little  pale 
blue  eyes  were  unshaded  by  any  eyebrows  ;  and 
swathed  as  the  face  was  in  the  white  bands  of 
her  coif,  it  looked,  I  confess,  so  little  human 
that  I  could  hardly  help  laughing  myself  at 
Hector's  naughty  comparison. 


HECTOR.  25 


I  had  hardly  had  time  to  tell  him  that  he  must 
not  laugh  at  her,  that  she  was  very  good,  and 
that  she  taught  us  our  lessons  to  help  to  build  a 
chapel  for  the  sisters  at  Baitgz,  before  she 
reached  the  place  where  we  were  sitting. 

She  kissed  me  as  usual,  on  both  cheeks,  and 
while  my  head  was  in  her  cornette  I  almost 
prayed  that  she  might  not  kiss  Hector,  I  knew 
by  instinct  that  he  would  not  like  it.  But  she 
did.  She  makes  a  rule  of  kissing  every  one  who 
is  connected,  however  distantly,  with  the  family; 
and  Hector  bore  it  very  well.  He  came  out 
from  under  her  cornette  a  little  red,  and  his  hair 
ruffled  by  the  mistake  he  had  made  of  trying  to 
kiss  the  wrong  side  of  her  face,  for  which  he  had 
received  a  blow  from  the  front  of  the  cornette 
going  in  the  opposite  direction  ;  but  he  made  no 
sign  of  objecting  to  the  salute.  If  she  had  let 
him  alone  then  all    might  yet  have  been  well. 

She  began  to  ask  him  questions. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  a  sister  of  charity  before 
dressed  like  this.'' " 

"  No,  madame." 

"  Ah  !  my  costume  astonishes  you,  perhaps ; 
but  you  must  not  think  that  we  are  scarecrows, 
we  sisters  of  charity.  We  are  only  poor  weak 
women    who    have    devoted    ourselves    to    good 


26  HECTOR. 


works.  We  serve  the  good  God  and  pray  to  " — 
Soeur  Amelie  said  all  this  in  a  tone  of  the 
utmost  good-humor,  but  here  she  suddenly 
stopped  and  asked  somewhat  seriously:  "But 
perhaps  you  do  not  love  our  Holy  Church  ?" 

Hector  made  no  answer,  and  she  repeated, 
"  Your  mother  was  a  holy  woman,  have  you 
been  brought  up  in  our  religion  ? " 

Hector  looked  as  though  he  did  not  know 
what  the  religion  of  sisters  of  charity  might  be. 

"  I  don't  exactly  know,"  he  answered  slowly, 

"  In  the  Catholic  religion,"  she  explained. 
"  Are  you  Catholic  or  Protestant  ?  " 

And  he,  standing  politely  hat  in  hand :  "  I 
think  we  had  better  ask  my  grandfather,  ma- 
dame.  My  aunts  talk  to  me  a  great  deal  about 
religion,  but  I  never  thought  of  asking  them  the 
name  of  their  religion.      Grandpapa  will  know." 

I  think  Soeur  Amelie  was  too  much  astonished 
to  be  able  to  continue  the  conversation,  for  she 
changed  it  suddenly,  saying  in  a  cheerful  voice  : 

"  And  are  you  very  glad  to  be  here,  my  poor 
child,  with  the  little  cousin  who  loves  you  ? " 

And  he,  still  standing  with  head  uncovered  : 

"  I  don't  know  yet,  madame,  I  have  only  just 
arrived." 

"  How,  you  don't  know  ?     They  have   taught 


HECTOR.  27 

you  already,  at  your  age,  to  do  without  af- 
fection ? " 

This  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  commiseration. 

Hector  looked  puzzled,  and  not  knowing  what 
to  say  he  tried  to  smile.  I  understood  directly 
that  Soeur  Am(jlie  was  thinking  of  him  as  the 
unfortunate  orphan  cast  out  from  a  cold-hearted 
family,  and  I  was  sure  from  the  two  or  three 
minutes  I  had  been  in  the  drawing-room  that 
Hector's  grandfather  at  least  loved  him. 

But  I  had  too  great  a  respect  for  Soeur  Amelie 
to  say  anything  then,  and  she  continued  in  a 
tone  of  curiosity  : 

"  Is  it  nothii>g  to  you  that  your  little  cousin 
loves  you .'' " 

"  She  cannot  love  me  yet,  madame,"  with  a 
smile  no  longer  puzzled  but  amused. 

"  Ah,  you  do  not  understand  that.  You  do 
not  love  her,  then  .''  " 

He  made  no  answer,  but  stooped  to  brush 
some  twigs  from  his  clothes.  I  cast  an  implor- 
ing glance  at  Soeur  Amelie,  but  she  did  not  see 
it :  she  was  intent  upon  Hector. 

"  Say,  then  !     You  do  not  love  her  ^  " 

An  embarrassed  pause,  then  Hector  answered 
firmly  :  "  No,  madame  ; "  not  adding  a  word  of 
explanation,   but  reddening  a  little  with  discom- 


28  RECTOR. 


fort  at  having  to  make  the  impolite  speech.  I 
felt  for  him  with  all  my  heart. 

"Oh!  ma  Soeur,"  I  exclaimed;  "  how  can  he 
love  me  yet,  when  he  has  only  known  me  for  an 
hour  ? " 

But  she,  who  was  nodding  her  head  slowly  up 
and  down  as  over  a  reprobate,  replied  with  sud- 
den animation: 

"  Nevertheless,  you  love  him  ?     You." 

It  was  quite  true,  and  I  was  silenced,  but  not 
for  that  one  bit  convinced  that  Hector  was  hard- 
hearted. It  was  natural  that  I  should  love  him 
— I  had  so  few  people  to  love.  I  had  heard  so 
much  about  him,  and  then  he  was  to  be  the 
companion  for  whom  I  had  longed.  Whereas 
there  was  no  reason  for  him  to  love  me,  he  knew 
nothing  at  all  about  me ;  and  I  liked  him  only 
the  better  for  telling  the  truth. 

"  Do  you  like  France  ? "  was  Soeur  Amdlie's 
next  question,  and  I  found  myself  almost  trem- 
bling for  Hector,  lest  he  should  not  like  France, 
and  be  obliged  to  answer  No,  to  this  question 
also.  If  he  did  I  knew  Soeur  Amelie  would 
be  mortally  offended,  for  she  thought  France 
the  most  beautiful  country  in  the  world,  and  our 
Chalosse  the  most  beautiful  part  of  France. 
She  prided  herself  specially  upon  this,  because 


II  EC  T  OB.  29 

it  was  her  birthplace  ;  and  she  had  good  ground, 
she  always  told  us,  for  her  opinion,  having  in 
her  youth  seen  other  countries  and  having  never 
seen  any  to  compare  with  the  Chalosse.  I 
never  knew  what  other  countries  she  had  seen  ; 
when  I  asked  her,  she  used  to  say  that  they 
were  far  away — too  far  for  me  to  know  anything 
about ;  but  every  one  round  Salaret  said  that 
she  had  traveled,  and  we  were  all  proud  that 
she  should  still  hold  so  good  an  opinion  of  our 
country.  No  one  in  the  village  would  have 
dared  in  her  presence  to  make  a  disparaging 
remark. 

Fortunately,  Hector  did  like  France,  and  he 
answered  brightly,  stretching  his  arm  out  to- 
wards the  fields  : 

"  Yes,  I  like  France,  and  I  like  that ;  it  is  a 
thousand  times  prettier  than  London,  In  Lon- 
don we  have  only  houses  and  streets  and  parks 
and  people  everywhere.  It  is  much  cleverer, 
you  know;  but  I  like  the  country." 

"  Ah,  you  prefer  the  country  !  And  why  so, 
if  there  is  more  cleverness  in  London.?"  Soeur 
Am61ie  was  evidently  a  little  piqued  at  the 
implied  imputation  on  country  wits,  and  her 
voice  took  a  sarcastic  tone. 

But  Hector  did  not  notice  it,  and  answered 


30  EECTOE. 


quite  innocently,  "  Oh,  it  is  the  people  of  course 
who  are  much  cleverer  in  London ;  and  I  don't 
like  people — in  the  country  you  can  be  alone." 

His  eyes  fixed  absently  as  he  spoke  on  the 
horizon.  He  seemed  to  fancy  himself  alone 
already  in  the  distant  fields,  and  while  Soeur 
Amelie  raised  her  hands,  murmuring  in  despair  : 
"  But  those  instincts  are  the  instincts  of  a  sav- 
age " — the  song  of  a  rising  skylark  caught  his 
ear,  and  he  evidently  did  not  hear  what  she  said 
for  pleasure  in  listening  to  the  bird. 

There  was  no  time  for  further  conversation 
between  them,  for  a  moment  later  Grand'm^re 
appeared  at  the  house -door  accompanied  by 
Hector's  relations,  and  Hector  was  called  to 
say  good-bye. 

I  did  not  fancy  Hector  cared  much  for  his 
aunts,  though  they  seemed  to  speak  kindly  to 
him  and  kissed  him  affectionately  before  they 
got  into  the  carriage.  But  I  was  more  than  ever 
certain,  when  I  witnessed  the  parting  between 
him  and  his  grandfather,  that  he  and  the  old 
man  loved  each  other.  The  grey  head  bent 
down  till  it  almost  touched  Hector's  bright 
golden  hair.  Hector's  vigorous  young  arms 
were  thrown  round  his  grandfather's  neck  for 
one    hearty  hug,  and  if   it  hadn't  been  for   all 


UECTOB.  31 

Grand' mere  and  Madelon  said  about  the  English 
never  showing  their  feehngs,  I  could  have  fan- 
cied that  the  eyes  of  both  were  moist.  That, 
however,  was  only  for  a  moment.  The  next, 
they  were  saying  something  very  cheerful  to 
each  other  in  English,  which  of  course  I  did 
not  understand.  The  old  gentleman  pulled  some 
money  out  of  his  pocket,  which  he  gave  to  Hec- 
tor, then  he  got  into  the  carriage :  the  footman 
banged  the  door;  and  a  few  moments  later  the 
only  sign  of  their  presence  was  our  little  Hector 
whom  they  had  left  behind. 

"  Well,  little  lad,"  said.Grand'm^re  putting  her 
hand  upon  his  head,  "you'll  be  very  unhappy 
for  awhile,  but  you  must  not  be  discouraged  for 
that ;  you  will  become  accustomed  to  us.  Here 
is  the  little  one  all  ready  to  adore  you.  As  for 
me,  I  loved  your  mother,  and  her  son  at  all 
events  is  at  home  here." 

Then  Grand'mere  and  Soeur  Amelie  went  in 
together.  We  heard  the  buzz  of  their  talk  for  a 
long  time  through  the  window,  and  later,  when 
I  left  Hector  for  a  moment  to  go  and  get  the 
key  of  the  corn-bin  from  Grand'mere  for  the 
fowls'  supper,  I  heard  Grand'mere  say  in  reply 
to  some  criticism  of  Soeur  Amelie's  : 

"  Ah  bah !  he  has  a  good  face  and  a  vigorous 


32  HECTOE. 

little  body,  and  if  he  has  his  little  individuality, 
let  him  keep  it.  You  are  a  saint,  and  you  would 
like  to  see  us  all  conform  to  certain  rules.  I 
am  only  a  simple  country-woman,  who  has  never 
stirred  off  her  own  land;  but  I  go  by  what  I  see, 
and  in  my  experience  it  is  the  individuals  who 
achieve  something,  not  the  men  whom  Nature 
turns  out  like  buttons  by  the  gross." 


HECTOR.  33 


CHAPTER  III. 

T  WOKE  next  morning  with  the  joyous  thought 
that  I  had  to  show  Hector  our  house ;  and  I 
'knew  enough  of  him  now  to  feel  sure  that  he 
would  like  it.  I  slept  in  a  little  room  inside 
Grand'mere's,  and  at  five  o'clogk  in  the  summer 
mornings  Grand'm^re  used  to  open  her  windows 
and  mine.  At  half-past  five  she  used  to  dress, 
and  before  she  went  down,  if  I  was  not  awake 
she  used  to  wake  me,  and  pour  the  cold  water 
into  my  basin  for  me  to  wash.  It  was  not  sum- 
mer yet,  and  the  early  morning  hours  were  fresh 
and  dark,  so  that  though  Grand'mere  liked  to  be 
up  herself  she  used  to  let  me  lie  in  bed  till  half- 
past  six.  But  this  morning  I  had  no  desire  to 
lie  in  bed.  I  was  up  and  dressed  before  half- 
past  six ;  and  when  I  found  Grand'mere  in  the 
kitchen  blowing  the  red  embers  under  a  sauce- 
pan of  steaming  milk  my  enquiry  whether  Hec- 
tor was  to  be  called  met  with  the  answer  I  had 
hoped  for. 
3 


34  HECTOR. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  go  and  wake  him  up," 

I  ran  upstairs  eager  to  see  him  again,  but 
when  after  knocking  twice  I  softly  opened  his 
door,  I  saw  only  the  bedclothes  thrown  back 
from  the  empty  bed,  and  a  little  night-shirt  lying 
on  the  floor  :  Hector  himself  was  gone. 

"  Well,"  grumbled  Madelon,  when  I  returned 
to  the  kitchen,  "  up  to  what  time  would  you  like 
him  to  stay  in  bed  ?  I  called  him  at  five  o'clock. 
I  don't  suppose  he  is  to  be  more  coddled  than  = 
you.  He  seemed  to  like  his  bed,  allez.  He  was 
well  wrapped  up  in  your  new  quilt." 

"  It  is  a  good  bed,  I  sorted  all  the  feathers  of 
it  myself,"  said  Grand'mere.  "  It  was  perhaps 
a  little  hard  for  the  beginning,  Madelon,  to  bring 
him  out  of  it  so  early." 

"  Bah !  he  has  a  firm  body.  He  can  bear 
some  hardships,"  said  Madelon;  and  I  without 
any  more  words  slipped  away  to  try  and  find 
Hector. 

He  was  nowhere  in  the  house.  I  could  not 
find  him  in  the  garden  or  the  farmyard,  and 
after  awhile  I  set  off  to  seek  for  him  down  the 
lane.  I  had  not  far  to  go,  for  at  the  forge  I 
found  him  watching  the  smith  light  his  fire,  and 
chatting  at  *ne  door  with  a  girl  from  one  of  the 
metairies,  who  was  on  her  way  up  to  fetch  the 
milk. 


HECTOR.  35 

He  seemed  to  have  known  her  all  his  life,  he 
had  so  much  to  say  to  her:  and  when  I  came 
up  I  found  he  was  telling  her  about  the  furnaces 
he  had  seen  in  a  great  arsenal  somewhere  in 
England. 

I  liked  to  hear  about  it,  and  the  smith  came 
to  listen  too  when  he  had  finished  lighting  his 
fire. 

"  Ha,  it  is  interesting  that;  the  little  lad  knows 
how  to  speak,"  he  said,  as  Hector  went  on  to 
describe  the  wonders  of  the  great  arsenal. 

"That's  what  people  achieve  by  joining 
together.  Now,  here  am  I  with  good  strong 
arms."  He  rolled  his  shirt-sleeves  higher  as  he 
spoke,  and  looked  down  with  pride  on  his  well- 
developed  muscles.  "  Yes,  and  delicate  fingers 
too,  for  all  that  regards  smith's  work.  And 
there  is  Esquebesse  the  keeper,  with  head 
enough  for  four.  He  lends  me  his  ideas,  he 
explains  to  me  what  he  wants.  I  lend  him  my 
hands,  I  do  for  him  what  he  explains,  and  crack! 
a  machine  is  made.  He  snares  his  foxes  and 
his  weazels.  The  partridges  thrive.  I  send 
my  little  bill  to  M.  le  Comte.  I  have  a  few 
francs  to  rattle  in  my  pocket,  every  one  is  sat- 
isfied ;  and  there  we  are  friends,  M.  le  Comte  and 
Esquebesse  and  I." 


36  HECTOR. 

Esquebesse  had  come  up  the  road  with  his 
dogs  while  the  blacksmith  was  talking,  and  it 
was  to  him  that  the  latter  part  of  the  speech 
was  addressed.  They  were  a  contrast  to  each 
other,  those  two  men.  Esquebesse  fair  and 
slight,  with  shoulders  stooping  a  little  forward 
under  his  dirty  brown  velveteen  jacket ;  Pierre, 
short  and  black  and  square,  with  knotted  mus- 
cles standing  out  on  his  bare  arms  and  throat, 
and  a  brawny  chest  exposed  by  the  loose  shirt 
he  always  wore.  And  yet  they  were  the  great- 
est friends.  It  was  well  known  that  Esquebesse 
seldom  failed  to  look  in  at  the  forge  twice  and 
three  times  a  week,  and  Pierre  used  to  walk 
over  from  Sainte-Marie-les-Bains  as  regularly  as 
Sunday  came  round  to  smoke  a  pipe  with  Esque- 
besse in  his  lodge,  at  M.  le  Comte's  gate. 

Esquebesse  smiled  in  his  quiet  way  at  Pierre's 
notion  of  admitting  M.  le  Comte  as  a  third  into 
their  friendship. 

"You're  right,  Pierre,"  he  said,  "those  who 
don't  serve  one  another  are  apt  to  hate  each 
other,  and  hatred  is  useless  friction ;  it  is  as  bad 
for  the  country  as  rust  for  the  machine.  If 
there  is  anything  which  will  hinder  our  old 
France  from  working  now,  it  is  the  hatred  of 
classes." 


HECTOR.  37 


"La-bas,  in  your  arsenal  they  kept  their 
machines  bright  ?"  asked  Pierre. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Hector,  "  they  couldn't  have 
any  rust  there,"  and  he  began  to  describe  the 
workshops,  full  of  flashing  steel  and  whirring 
leather-bands,  wheels  going  round,  pistons  work- 
ing up  and  down,  men  and  boys,  hot,  dirty,  con- 
centrated upon  their  work,  feeding  the  powerful, 
precise,  indifferent  machines  with  the  materials 
which  passed  through  them  from  one  stage  to 
another  of  perfection. 

"  That's  fine,  that,"  said  Pierre,  nodding  at 
Esquebesse.  "  And  yet  to  say  that  it  takes  all 
that  to  maintain  an  army," 

"  Oh,  he's  a  famous  monster,  the  army,  and 
eats  easily  not  only  all  that,  but  all  the  best 
blood  of  a  nation  into  the  bargain.  In  this 
country,"  Esquebesse  said  with  a  smile  to  Hec- 
tor, "  we  keep  a  pet  dragon  who  gobbles  up  all 
our  young  men.  We  regret  them  it  is  true,  but 
then  he  swells  himself  out  and  we  are  proud  of 
the  size  of  our  dragon.  We  pat  his  sides  per- 
petually, and  from  time  to  time  we  make  him 
take  a  great  breath  that  we  may  see  how  big 
he  is." 

"  And  when  he  has  arrived  at  maturity  we 
use  him  to  eat  up  the  dragons  of  other  nations, 


38  HECTOR. 

or  too  unhappily,  to  be  eaten  up  himself;  and  it 
is  very  fine  that,"  said  a  new  voice,  somewhat 
bitterly,  behind  Esquebesse. 

It  was  young  Georges  of  the  farm  of  Saint- 
Loubouet,  dressed  in  his  soldier's  uniform,  and 
so  much  improved  in  appearance  since  he  went 
away  more  than  three  years  before  to  be  a  sol- 
dier, that  I  scarcely  recognized  him. 

But  Irma  recognised  him  well  enough,  for  she 
blushed  very  red  under  her  capeline,  and  said  at 
once,  just  as  though  we  did  not  all  know  now 
why  she  had  been  dawdling  at  the  forge  that 
morning: 

"  Allons,  good  day,  M.  Esquebesse,  I  must  be 
going  on  to  fetch  my  milk." 

Every  one  knew  round  Salaret  that  Georges 
was  Irma's  lover.  His  father  held  a  little  farm 
just  on  the  other  side  of  Grand'mere's  estate  to 
the  farm  held  by  Irma's  father,  and  there  was 
only  Georges  and  his  sister  to  divide  the  inher- 
itance. 'Irma  was  one  of  a  big  family.  Georges 
had  made  love  to  her  all  his  life,  and  though 
there  was  no  engagement  between  them,  her 
parents  had  been  glad  to  promise  that  if  Georges 
came  back  of  the  same  mind  after  he  had  served 
his  time  with  the  army,  they  would  give  their 
consent  to  an  engagement  then. 


HECTOR.  39 

Some  said  now  that  the  parents  were  sorry 
they  had  given  any  promise,  for  Irma  was  very 
young  at  that  time,  and  she  had  grown  up  since 
so  pretty  that  she  might  have  been  married 
many  times  over.  But  she  had  no  wish  herself 
to  marry  any  one  but  Georges.  She  said  she 
would  rather  wait  for  him. 

I  had  often  heard  Soeur  Amelie  and  Grand'- 
mere  talking  about  it,  and  I  had  never  seen  any 
lovers  together  in  my  life  before,  so  I  looked 
with  all  my  eyes  as  Irma  moved  across  the  road 
with  her  white  woollen  capeline  falling  back  and 
her  curly  dark  hair  shining  in  the  sun,  and 
Georges  said  something  to  her  in  a  low  voice 
which  brought  the  color  suddenly  back  to  her 
open  countenance. 

"There  are  two,"  said  Esquebesse  with  a 
smile,  "  who  think  like  you,  Pierre,  that  union 
is  strength." 

"  Ah  !  I  would  be  glad  to  see  that  union.  He 
comes  back,  poor  lad,  because  he  has  heard 
rumors  at  Montfort,  and  he  is  uneasy.  But  he 
has  no  need,  allez;  she  is  safe  that  one.  I  have 
kp'^wn  her  from  the  cradle,  and  it  is  not  ev^ery 
woman  that  I  would  have  encouraged  the  boy 
to  stake  his  happiness  upon." 

"  But  they  say  the  other,  is  rich,  and  that  he 


40  HECTOR. 

is  in  love,  the  great  idiot.  And  the  parents 
would  sell  their  souls  for  a  thousand  francs 
apiece." 

"  Ah  bah !  union  is  strength,  and  I  will  wager 
that  for  all  her  air  of  reserve,  those  two  will  find 
means  of  laying  their  heads  together  before  he 
goes  back  to  his  regiment  to-morrow." 

"  Those  two  "  were  separating  now,  and  Irma 
called  to  us,  "You  are  coming,  children.''"  So 
we  heard  no  more,  but  trotted  up  the  lane  with 
her,  leaving  Georges  behind  in  chat  with  his 
uncle  the  blacksmith. 

In  the  kitchen,  Grand'm^re  was  beginning  to 
wonder  what  had  become  of  us,  but  the  milk 
was  only  just  ready.  As  we  appeared  in  the 
doorway,  Grand'mere  set  the  big  saucepan  on 
the  plate  which  awaited  it  at  one  end  of  the 
kitchen-table,  and  while  Madelon  served  Irma 
with  the  fresh  milk  she  had  come  to  fetch, 
Grand'mere  cut  us  each  a  great  slice  of  corn 
bread,  and  filled  our  bowls  with  the  hot  yellow 
milk.  When  there  were  visitors  at  Salaret  we 
always  had  coffee.  No  one  knew  how  to  make 
it  better  than  Grand'mere;  but  when  we  were 
alone  Grand'mere  neither  took  it  herself  nor 
gave  it  to  any  of  us. 

Hot  milk  and  corn  bread  were  good  enough, 


HECTOR.  41 

she  said,  for  country  folk;  and  Madelon  and 
Jean  had  their  breakfast  from  the  same  loaf  and 
saucepan  that  furnished  ours. 

I  was  afraid  Hector  might  not  like  such  sim- 
ple fare,  but  he  broke  his  bread  into  his  milk 
just  as  I  did  mine,  and  ate  it  as  though  he  had 
never  eaten  anything  else  all  his  life.  The  only 
part  of  our  breakfast  which  he  seemed  to  notice 
was  the  pleasure  of  being  allowed  to  sit  and  eat 
it  on  the  doorstep  looking  out  over  the  farmyard 
where  the  cocks  and  hens  were  already  picking 
up  their  breakfast,  and  the  wet  straw  glistened 
in  the  light  of  the  newly  risen  sun.  I  always 
ate  my  breakfast  on  the  doorstep  in  the  summer, 
and  Hector  thought  as  I  did  that  the  bread  and 
milk  tasted  much  nicer  there  than  in  the  smoky 
kitchen. 

'•Ah!  how  hungry  I  am,"  he  said  as  he  put 
his  bowl  back  empty  on  the  table. 

"You  are  hungry,"  said  Grand'm^re;  "then 
begin  again  and  let  us  see  what  effect  that  will 
have."  Which  he  did  to  his  own  great  satisfac- 
tion and  Grand'mere's. 

*'  Madelon,  you  were  right  to  wake  him  up  at 
five  o'clock,"   she  said. 

"As  if  I  didn't  know  it,"  replied  Madelon. 
"  That's  not  the  body  of  a  sluggard,"     And  by 


42  HECTOR. 

that  I  understood  that  in  spite  of  her  sharp  ways 
Madelon  was  going  to  love  him  too. 

Grand' mere  liked  no  one  to  he  idle,  and  after 
breakfast  I  always  helped  a  little  in  the  house- 
work ;  so  I  presently  lost  sight  of  Hector,  and 
when  Soeur  Amelie  came  at  nine  o'clock,  he  was 
not  at  first  to  be  found. 

"  I  am  not  astonished,"  she  said  to  Grand'- 
mere.  "  I  greatly  fear  that  it  is  a  little  savage 
whom  they  have  sent  you;  and  we  shall  have 
much  difficulty  in  instructing  him  in  anything 
good." 

"  Go  and  look  for  him,  Zelie,  go  and  look  for 
him,"  was  Grand'mere's  only  answer.  "And 
don't  come  back  to  say  you  can't  find  him.  It 
is  ridiculous  in  this  little  house." 

It  occurred  to  me  after  awhile  to  look  in  the 
drawing-room — a  room  we  never  entered  our- 
selves unless  we  had  visitors — and  there,  at  last, 
I  found  him.  He  had  opened  one  of  the  shut- 
ters and  the  light  thus  admitted  fell  upon  an  old 
bookcase,  at  the  foot  of  which  he  sat  upon  the 
floor  reading  so  intently  that  he  did  not  notice 
my  entrance. 

"  Soeur  Am^Iie  is  here.  Hector,"  I  said. 
"  Will  you  come  .'*  " 

He  paid  no  attention,  but  as  I  knew  he  must 


HECTOB.  43 

have  heard  me,  I  contented  myself  with  looking 
over  his  shoulder  while  I  waited.  The  book 
seemed  to  me  ver}''  stupid.  It  was  a  shabby 
little  volume  bound  in  worm-eaten  leather,  and 
the  yellow  pages  were  stained  with  damp.  I 
could  not  understand  what  Hector  was  reading 
about;  it  was  apparently  a  machine,  and  the 
title  written  at  the  top  of  the  page,  "  Avicepto- 
logie  Frangaise,"  left  me  as  much  as  ever  in  the 
dark.  I  did  not  know  what  Aviceptologie  meant, 
and  I  soon  grew  impatient. 

"  Hector,  Sceur  Amelie  does  not  like  to  be 
kept  waiting.     Will  you  come  .-'  " 

"Eh,  what !  What  do  you  say  .''  Soeur  Ame- 
lie .''  Look  here  Zelie.  Didn't  you  say  yester- 
day that  there  were  plenty  of  woodpeckers  about 
here  .? " 

"  Yes,  lots ;  we  will  go  out  in  the  woods  after 
dinner,  but  come  along  with  me  now.  And 
Hector,  you  musn't  open  the  drawing-room 
shutters  again  without  Grand'm^re's  leave;  the 
sun  spoils  the  furniture." 

"  And  larks,  Zelie  .■'  Didn't  you  say  there 
were  larks  too  .''  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  look  here.  Do  you  think  we  could 
find  a  peach-stone,  or  an  old  .leg  of  mutton  bone 
anywhere." 


44  HECTOR. 

"Hector!"  I  exclaimed,  in  imploring  tones, 
"be  good!  I  dare  say  we  shall  have  stewed 
peaches  for  dinner  to-day,  because  it  is  Friday, 
and  then  you  can  have  a  stone.  But  come  now, 
Soeur  Amelie  will  be  so  vexed  if  you  delay." 

"  Soeur  Amelie!  Eh,  Why!  Is  she  here? 
What  does  she  want  .-•  Of  course  I'll  go. 
Where  is  she .-'  " 

It  was  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I  had  ever 
been  late  for  lessons.  My  books  stood  on  a 
little  shelf  in  the  dining-room,  and  when  I  saw 
Soeur  Amelie's  cornette  coming  up  the  lane,  it 
had  always  been  my  habit  to  run  and  set  chairs 
for  her  and  me,  and  put  my  books  upon  the  table. 
I  never  missed  her,  for  from  our  door  we  could 
see  a  long  way  over  the  country,  and  her  white 
headdress  was  so  conspicuous  in  the  morning 
sun,  that  one  of  us  was  sure  to  note  her  coming 
on  the  high  road  long  before  she  turned  into 
our  lane. 

I  was  therefore  already  fluttered  this  morning 
when  lessons  began,  and  soon  I  found  that  the 
interest  I  took  in  Hector's  proceedings  was 
stronger  than  my  best  resolutions.  I  could 
concentrate  my  mind  on  no  work  of  my  own. 
Soeur  Amelie  wished  to  find  out  what  Hector 
knew.     Could  he  read .'' 


HECTOR.  45 


«*  Yes,  a  little." 

"  Could  he  write  ? " 

"Very  badly." 

"  Did  he  like  arithmetic .? " 

«*  No,  he  hated  it." 

"  Was  he  good  at  geography  } " 

"  He  had  never  learnt  any." 

"  Had  he  studied  well  I'Histoire  Sainte .'' " 

He  had  never  heard  the  phrase  before,  and 
did  not  know  what  it  meant ;  but  he  supposed 
ill  history  was  holy  because  it  was  the  account 
of  the  struggles  of  men,  and  it  made  you  see 
how,  in  spite  of  everything,  good  men  had  made 
the  world  grow  better. 

He  had  been  answering  listlessly  before ;  his 
face  flashed  now  into  interest,  and  he  was  going 
to  say  more  when  Soeur  Amelie  interrupted  him  : 

"  It  is  evident  that  you  understand  little  of 
the  true  tendencies  of  history,  and  what  I  am 
asking  you  about  now  is  Scripture  history.  You 
have  heard  the  Bible  spoken  of,  no  doubt.  Well, 
the  Bible  is  not  a  book  to  put  into  the  hands  of 
children,  but  all  that  is  necessary  for  them  to 
know  is  told  in  I'Histoire  Sainte,  in  a  purified 
language,  which  presents  no  stambling-blocks  to 
the  understanding.  If  you  have  never  studied 
it,  we  must  begin  at  once,  for  you  have  at  your 


4f>  HECTOR. 


age  much  lost  timS  to  repair.  With  poHtics  and 
worldly  history  we  need  not  concern  ourselves." 

"  How  funny !  Yes,  I  suppose  it  wasn't 
called  politics  in  those  days  when  the  Israelites 
asked  for  a  king,  and  were  told  that  they  ought 
not  to  want  one." 

Soeur  Amelie  looked  surprised,  and  I  thought 
a  little  annoyed.  "  I  don't  know  where  you 
have  picked  up  your  information,"  she  said, 
"  but  you  have  understood  badly ;  such  a  thing 
never  happened,  the  good  God  has  been  always 
on  the  side  of  kings ;  it  is  only  the  irreligious 
who  disregard  their  divine  right,  and  would  do 
away  if  they  could  with  everything  that  is 
divine." 

Hector  did  not  seem  to  think  she  was  in 
earnest,  for  he  laughed  good-humouredly  and 
then  saying,  "  It  is  quite  clear,  I'll  show  it  to 
you ;  I  remember  exactly  where  it  is,"  he 
disappeared  suddenly  from  the  room.  He 
returned  almost  immediately,  with  a  small 
closely-printed  book  in  his  hand.  "There  it 
is,  you  see ;  just  read  that  bit,  about  the  great 
wickedness  they  did  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord  in 
asking  for  themselves  a  king." 

''  It  is  in  English,"  Soeur  Amelie  said,  putting 
the  book  from  her  with  an  air  of  reproof,  "  and  I 
don't  read  English." 


HECTOR.  47 

"  Oh,  well,  may  Zelie  run  and  fetch  a  French 
Bible,  and  I'll  show  it  to  you  in  that  ?  They  are 
very  nearly  the  same,  I  have  often  compared 
them." 

"  What  ?  What  do  you  say  ?  Is  that  a 
Bible?"  exclaimed  Soeur  Amelie,  suddenly 
taking  up  the  book  with  interest.  "And  you 
have  read  it .''  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  only  read  it  all  through  once, 
but  I  am  going  through  it  again  now,  and  of 
course  I  know  a  good  many  of  the  Psalms  by 
heart,  and  parts  of  the  Gospels  and  Epistles, 
and  a  good  many  chapters  out  of  Isaiah  and 
Jeremiah,  and  some  of  Deuteronomy  and  Levit- 
icus. I  used  not  to  care  a  bit  for  Deuteronomy 
and  Leviticus  till  grandpa  taught  me  Egyptian 
and  Babylonian  history ;  and  then  it  became  so 
interesting,  you  know,  to  trace  the  effects  of  the 
Egyptians  on  the  Jews,  and  of  the  Jews  again 
upon  the  Babylonians,  that  I  learnt  a  good  many 
of  the  Jewish  laws  by  heart.  Have  you  ever 
read  the  Apocrypha  .-*  That's  very  interesting 
too." 

Soeur  Amelie  looked  at  him  while  he  made 
this  unusually  long  speech,  just  as  she  might 
have  looked  at  some  curious  animal  in  the 
Jardin  des  Plantes.     She  was  too  much  aston- 


48  HECTOR. 

ished  to  interrupt  him,  but  as  he  ended  her 
indignation  broke  forth : 

"  No,  indeed,  at  my  age  even  I  have  never 
permitted  myself  to  read  it ;  and  while  you  are 
here,  Hector,  you  shall  not  read  it  either.  It  is 
an  unheard  of  presumption  for  a  child  like  you 
to  venture  to  read  words  which  are  often  more 
than  the  very  wisest  can  understand.  You  are 
perhaps  too  young  to  know,  my  poor  child,  what 
dangers  you  have  run,  but  here  we  will  protect 
you  against  the  snares  of  the  evil  one.  I  will 
take  this  book  and  put  it  in  a  place  of  safety ; 
whenever  you  return  to  England  it  shall  be 
given  to  you  again.  If,  as  we  all  hope,  that 
time  may  be  far  distant,  your  mind  will  be  per- 
haps better  prepared  to  receive  its  mysteries." 

She  said  the  last  words  very  kindly,  and 
crossed  herself  with  fervor  as  she  slipped  the 
book  into  her  pocket 

Hector  did  not  attempt  to  rescue  his  book, 
but  stood  and  gazed  at  her  for  a  moment  with  a 
puzzled  expression  in  his  eyes. 

"  What  did  you  say  your  religion  was  ? "  he 
asked  as  he  sat  down  again  quietly  in  his  place 
beside  me. 

"The  Catholic  religion,"  she  replied. 

"  Oh  !  then  my  aunts  must  be  Protestants." 


HECTOR.  49 


On  this  first  day  Soeur  Amelie  seemed  to 
think  it  would  be  well  to  examine  him  no 
further,  and  after  his  display  of  unexpected 
knowledge  she  gave  him  a  piece  of  geography 
and  Histoire  Sainte  to  learn  by  heart,  and 
turned  her  attention  to  me. 

I  suppose  I  was  very  trying  that  morning,  for 
I  could  not  think  of  anything  but  Hector;  and 
Soeur  Amelie  was  more  irritable  than  I  had  ever 
known  her.  Lessons  ended  for  me  in  tears,  for 
Hector  in  nothing  at  all,  for  when  Soeur  Amelie 
turned  to  him  at  the  last  moment  to  hear  his 
repetition  he  did  not  know  one  word  of  the 
lesson  she  had  set  him.  He  had  been  thinking 
of  something  else,  probably,  the  whole  time. 
He  wrinkled  his  brow,  and  looked  vainly  round 
the  room  for  inspiration.  Nothing  came  ;  Soeur 
Amelie  sat  and  waited  with  the  book  in  her 
hand.     On  his  side  only  the  blankest  silence. 

At  last  she  threw  the  book  down  in  vexation. 
"  I  should  not  have  wished  to  give  punishments 
on  Hector's  first  day,"  she  said,  "but  that  sum 
that  Zelie  is  crying  over  must  be  done  and  these 
lessons  learnt  before  I  come  to-morrow.  We 
shall  not  advance  much.  Hector,  if  this  is  the 
way  you  work." 

Madelon's    shrill    voice   from    the   kitchen- 


5°  HECTOR. 


"  He !  ma  Soeur,  Pierre  is  harnessing.  Make 
haste!"  cut  short  any  more  of  the  reproaches 
she  might  with  justice  have  addressed  to  us,  for 
Pierre  the  blacksmith  used  always  to  give  her  a 
lift  back  to  the  convent  as  he  drove  into  Sainte- 
Marie-les-Bains  to  dine  with  his  old  mother,  and 
she  could  not  keep  him  waiting  at  the  corner  of 
the  lane.  "A  lions,  don't  cry,  Zelie ;  do  your 
sum  now  at  once  before  dinner,  and  be  better 
children  to-morrow."  She  kissed  us  then  both 
before  she  went,  and  a  minute  after  we  saw  the 
wings  of  her  cornette  flapping  as  she  ran  dowr 
the  lane  in  the  sun. 

I  thought  Hector  would  have  said  something 
about  her  taking  his  book  and  being  disagree- 
able ;  and  I  meant  to  defend  her,  because, 
though  she  was  a  little  cross  sometimes,  she  was 
always  kind  at  heart,  and  I  felt  ashamed  now 
she  was  gone  of  having  been  so  silly  and 
naughty. 

But  the  instant  she  was  out  of  the  room 
Hector  seemed  to  forget  all  about  her,  and  his 
first  question  was  : — 

"  Do  you  really  think  we  shall  have  stewed 
^.v,aches  for  dinner,  Zelie .?  It  isn't  the  time  of 
year  for  peaches  now,  is  it  .-•  " 

"  No,  but  Grand'mere  puts  them  away  i'l  tins 


HECTOR.  51 


when  they  are  plentiful,  and  we  often  do  have 
them  on  Fridays.  Are  you  very  fond  of 
peaches  ? "  I  asked,  wondering  a  little  at  what 
seemed  like  greediness. 

"  I  don't  mind  about  the  peaches  one  way  or 
the  other,  but  I  want  the  stones.  You  see  this 
man  says,"  and  he  put  up  on  the  table  the  little 
brown  book  he  had  been  reading  in  the  morning, 
"  that,  with  a  peach-stone  properly  cleaned  out, 
and  filed  and  pierced  at  both  sides,  you  can 
make  a  call  perfectly  resembling  the  cries  of 
larks.  Of  course  I  can  make  one  with  a  mutton- 
bone  and  a  little  wax,  but  I  think  the  peach-stone 
would  be  the  nicest  and  the  easiest  too.  And 
look  here,  Zelie,  I  have  been  drawing  on  my 
slate  all  the  figures  I  could  remember  of  the 
implements  a  bird-catcher  needs.  Just  you  take 
the  book  now,  and  see  if  I  describe  them  rightly." 

His  slate  was  covered  with  little  pictures  of 
knives,  bill-hooks,  awls,  odd  sorts  of  whistles, 
things  that  looked  like  quivers  full  of  arrows, 
and  various  other  tools  which  had  no  meaning 
at  all  for  me,  till  I  saw  that  in  the  book  he  had 
put  into  my  hands  there  were  a  number  of  old 
plates  which  corresponded  with  his  drawings, 
and  were  acc>)mpanied  by  full  and  minute 
descriptions  of  the  construction  and  uses  of  the 


52  HECTOE. 

implements  they  represented.  Then  he  began 
to  describe  to  me  how  the  things  were  made, 
and  what  they  were  for,  while  I  kept  the  book 
open  to  see  if  he  remembered  rightly.  He 
explained  to  me  that  the  word  Aviceptologie 
meant  the  science  of  catching  birds,  and  even  in 
the  short  time  he  had  had  for  reading,  he  had 
found  out  so  much  about  the  habits  of  our 
native  birds,  and  the  way  to  call  them  and  the 
way  to  catch  them,  and  how  to  make  the  differ- 
ent tools  he  needed,  that  I  was  quite  fascinated 
by  hearing  him  repeat  it  all ;  and  we  were  both 
still  leaning  over  his  slate  when  Madelon  came 
in  to  set  the  table  for  dinner. 

"  Ha,  we  are  beginning  to  love  our  lessons, 
are  we .-' "  she  remarked  with  a  sharp  glance  at 
the  disorder  of  the  table.  "  Formerly  the  table 
used  to  be  clear  when  I  came  to  set  the  places. 
It  is  very  good  to  be  studious,  but  it  is  good  also 
not  to  neglect  our  common  duties." 

I  blushed  to  think  how  little  I  merited  the 
praise  bestowed  upon  my  diligence.  My  sum 
was  still  unfinished,  Hector's  lessons  were 
unlearnt ;  but  we  had  to  put  our  books  away, 
for  Madelon's  movements  were  very  prompt, 
and  a  few  moments  later  the  steaming  soup- 
tureen  set  down  before  Grand'mere's  place 
served  as  a  signal  that  dinner  was  ready. 


HECTOR.  53 


CHAPTER    IV. 

r  TECTOR  got  his  peach-stones  at  dinner,  but 
after  dinner  Grand'm^re  sent  us  to  wipe 
apples  up  in  the  fruit-loft,  so  we  did  not  imme- 
diately put  them  to  any  use.  Grand'mere  told 
us  that  we  might  have  the  two  best  apples  we 
could  find  in  each  shelf  we  wiped,  and  as  the 
shelves  were  large,  and  we  were  both  fond  of 
apples,  we  worked  for  a  long  time  upstairs.  We 
had  fairly  earned  at  last  three  apples  each,  and 
were  bringing  them  down  in  glee  to  eat  with  our 
gouter  out  of  doors,  when  I  perceived  that  the 
door  leading  to  the  granaries  was  open,  and  I 
took  Hector  in  to  show  him  the  part  of  the 
house  which  I  liked  best  of  all.  The  'dwelling- 
house  at  Salaret  was  built  at  one  end  of  the 
farmyard,  at  the  other  end  was  the  great  store- 
house for  the  wine,  and  the  room  with  the 
presses  and  wine  tanks  all  idle  and  dusty  now, 
but  full  of  life  and  activity  in  the  autumn,  when 
the  sun  had  coaxed  the  bare  brown  vines  into 


54  HECTOR. 

fruit ;  all  along  one  side  of  the  yard,  connecting 
the  dwelling-house  with  the  wine-rooms,  ran  a 
succession  of  necessary  outhouses,  cowhouse, 
dairy,  laundry,  stables,  woodhouse,  and  above 
them,  for  the  whole  length  of  the  yard,  ran  the 
granaries  and  hay-lofts.  Grand'mere  was  very 
proud  of  her  granaries  ;  and  well  she  might  be, 
for  to  this  day,  old  as  she  is,  she  looks  after  her 
metayers  so  well,  that  there  is  hardly  a  land- 
owner in  the  country  who  has  finer  harvests 
than  she.  She  has  only  to  look  at  a  field  and 
she  knows  within  a  bushel  or  two  how  much 
corn  ought  to  come  to  her  out  of  it ;  she  knows 
how  many  quarts  of  wine  to  expect  from  every 
vineyard,  and  she  insists  upon  full  measure  ;  yet 
she  is  so  just,  and  in  her  own  way  generous,  to 
the  metayers  that  they  never  have  cause  for 
complaint.  I  think  they  respect  her  all  the 
more  because  she  will  not  allow  them  to  cheat 
her,  and  they  know  she  is  never  hard  in  cases  of 
distress.  I  have  often  known  her,  when  there 
was  occasion,  give  up  her  share  of  the  produce 
from  a  poor  meiairie,  and  not  only  feed  the  fam- 
ily through  the  winter,  but  give  them  their  seed 
corn  in  the  spring.  "  When  God  is  wielding 
the  scourge,"  she  used  to  say,  "  we  must  help 
each   other  to  bear  His  blows  with  patience." 


HE  (J  T  OB.  55 

No  one  who  serves  Grand'mere  would  dare  to 
Dring  her  a  nonsensical  tale ;  but  there  is  not 
one  of  her  metayers  who  does  not  feel  in  his 
heart  that  he  has  a  friend  up  at  Salaret. 

The  granaries  were  not  at  their  best  on  the 
day  Hector  first  saw  them,  for  we  had  sold  a 
great  deal  of  corn  that  winter.  After  the  har- 
vest they  were  always  piled  from  floor  to  roof, 
leaving  only  a  path  for  the  laborers  to  pass  up 
the  middle.  But  Hector  had  never  seen  them 
like  that,  and  he  admired  them  to  my  heart's 
content  just  as  they  were  to-day.  Men  were  at 
work  in  the  middle  room,  giving  out  sacks 
through  the  shoot  to  load  a  bullock  cart,  which 
was  drawn  up  in  the  yard  below.  In  the  first 
rooms  as  we  entered  there  was  no  light  but  that 
which  came  from  the  tiled  roof  overhead,  and 
the  soft  broken  rays  fell  pleasantly  on  the  differ- 
ent heaps  of  grain.  The  rye,  the  golden  maize, 
the  more  sobered  colored  wheat,  the  glistening 
oats,  were  all  equally  beautiful,  in  my  eyes,  and 
I  pointed  them  out  with  pride  to  Hector.  He 
had  never  seen  anything  at  all  like  it  before,  he 
said,  and  his  joy  at  jumping  head  foremost  into 
the  thrashed  corn,  at  swinging  in  the  thrashing 
machine,  rollmg  on  the  silky  yellow  maize  leaves 
we   found    piled  in  another  room ;  burying  me 


56  HECTOR. 


and  himself  in  the  white  husks  from  which  the 
grain  had  been  beaten  out,  was  a  revelation  of 
future  delight  to  me.  I  had  never  done  any  of 
those  things,  because  I  had  never  had  any  one 
to  do  them  with  ;  but  now  I  enjoyed  it  as  miich 
as  Hector  did,  and  our  laughter  rang  from  room 
to  room.  Grand'mere  came  up  to  see  how  the 
men  were  getting  on  with  the  lading,  and  when 
she  saw  my  cheeks  flushed  and  my  hair  full  of 
bits  of  straw,  instead  of  being  vexed,  as  I  was 
half  afraid  she  might  be,  she  patted  my  head 
and  said:  "That's  right.  Hector;  give  her 
some  exercise  and  make  a  child  of  her  again. 
She  is  so  sober  and  staid,  that  I  was  beginning 
to  think  they  had  cheated  me  with  a  grandchild 
as  old  as  myself." 

Hector  was  likely,  indeed,  to  give  me  plenty 
of  exercise.  He  was  tumbling  head  over  heels 
down  a  heap  of  maize  leaves,  when  all  his  peach- 
stones  fell  out  of  his  pocket  and  rattled  about 
the  floor. 

"  But,  yes,  Zelie,  I  had  forgotten  !  The  wood- 
peckers !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  picked  them  up. 
"You  promised  to  take  me  to  the  woods  after 
dinner.  And  where  are  our  apples  .-*  I  think  I 
must  eat  them  now;  I  am  so  awfully  hungry 
again." 


HECTOR.  57 


This  last  was  in  rather  a  lower  and  somewhat 
apologetic  tone ;  but  Grand'mere  heard  it  from 
the  room  where  she  was  busy. 

"Go  and  get  some  gojlter  irova  Madelon,"  she 
called  out.  "And  then  you  need  not  come  up 
again.  I  shall  be  locking  the  doors  in  a  minute 
or  two." 

I  was  hungry  too  to-day,  as  I  never  used  to  be 
before  Hector  came,  and  we  accepted  gratefully 
the  bread  and  garlic  Madelon  gave  us  at  the 
kitchen  door.  Then  Hector  proposed  that  we 
should  take  it  to  eat  in  the  woods  where  the 
woodpeckers  were;  and  staying  our  appetites 
as  we  went  with  an  apple  apiece,  we  started  for 
our  first  walk  together. 

As  we  went  down  the  lane,  Hector  pulled  his 
peach-stones  out  of  his  pocket  and  began  to 
explain  to  me  how  he  intended  to  make  his 
whistles ;  but  the  operation  turned  out  to  be 
less  simple  than  he  had  thought,  for  at  the  very 
beginning  we  were  puzzled  by  the  necessity  for 
piercing  the  stones  before  we  could  get  at  the 
kernel  to  scrape  it  out.  Hector  was  very 
anxious  to  make  them  at  once,  in  order  to  try 
their  effect  down  in  the  woods  ;  but  it  was  only 
the  more  tantalizing  as  we  looked  dt  the  beauti- 
fully marked  impenetrable  shell  to  reflect  how 


58  HECTOR. 

quickly  and  easily  the  nut  inside  could  be  dis- 
posed of  if  we  once  succeeded  in  making  the 
holes  we  wanted.  Hector  had  the  book  in  his 
pocket,  and  produced  it.  There  was  a  little 
engraving  of  the  peach-stone  as  it  ought  to  be 
pierced  on  both  sides,  with  a  hole  about  the  size 
of  a  small  lentil.  There  were  instructions  on 
the  opposite  page  to  pierce  it,  and  scrape  it 
out,  and  we  were  told  that  its  goodness  con- 
sisted in  the  clear  full  note  it  gave.  But  before 
that  clear  full  note  could  be  heard  we  had  to  find 
means  of  boring  the  crisp  and  close-grained 
wood. 

"  It's  no  use  going  any  farther,"  Hector  said, 
"  till  I  try  if  the  small  blade  of  my  knife  will 
do  it." 

So  we  sat  down  on  the  mound  at  the  bottom 
of  the  lane,  and  our  half-eaten  apples  rolled 
unheeded  into  the  dust,  while  we  concentrated 
all  our  energy  and  attention  upon  Hector's  ope- 
ration with  the  knife.  But  it  was  very  slow  and 
not  satisfactory ;  sometimes  the  steel  seemed  to" 
make  no  impression  on  the  wood,  sometimes 
chips  of  peach-stone  broke  off  in  unexpected 
places  ;  and  when  I  compared  the  jagged,  untidy 
scraping  with  the  neat  holes  in  the  picture,  I  felt 
sure  that  no  clear  full  note  would  ever  come  out 
of  our  peach-stone.' 


( 


"  So  we  sat  down  on  the  mound  at  the  bottom  of  the  lane."  —  Page  58. 


HECTOR.  59 


Then  at  last,  as  I  had  been  expecting  all 
along,  the  knife  slipped,  and  the  stone  Hector 
held  was  in  an  instant  covered  with  blood  from 
his  left  hand.  I  screamed  in  dismay,  and  with- 
out stopping  his  work,  he  looked  up  at  me  with 
a  curious  smile. 

"What  a  regular  little -French  girl  you  are," 
he  said,  "  to  scream  at  the  sight  of  a  little  blood ! 
What  does  it  matter  so  long  as  we  get  the  holes 
made .-'  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  I  replied 
indignantly,  "  by  a  regular  little  French  girl. 
French  girls  are  not  cowards  only,"  and  I  found 
my  voice  quivering  a  little,  though  I  did  not 
want  it  to ;  "I  thought  you  had  hurt  yourself." 

"Go  on  with  this,"  he  said,  "while  I  twist 
my  handkerchief  round  the  cut." 

He  put  the  knife  and  the  blood-stained  peach- 
stone  into  my  hand.  It  made  me  feel  sick  to 
touch  it,  and  I  suppose  I  was  really  in  heart  a 
coward,  for  my  hands  shook  with  the  terror  I 
felt  lest  the  knife  should  slip  again.  But  I 
would  not  have  refused  for  all  the  world.  I 
was  determined  he  should  not  think  through  me 
that  French  girls  were  cowards.  I  grasped  the 
peach-stone  as  tight  as  my  trembling  fingers 
would  hold  it,   and   with  an    inward  prayer   to 


6o  HECTOR. 

St.  Joseph  to  watch  the  knife  I  began  in  my 
turn  to  scrape. 

I  was  rewarded.  I  had  no  sooner  begun  than 
Hector  very  gently  took  the  knife  and  peach- 
stone  from  me. 

"That'll  do,"  he  said,  "the  knife  might  slip 
again,  and  I  only  wanted  to  see  if  you  were 
really  brave,  or  if  you  were  boasting,  like  most 
girls.  Perhaps  I'd  scream  if  you  were  cut ;  it  is 
always  worse  seeing  things  done  to  other  peo- 
ple." I  laughed  at  the  thought  of  him  scream- 
ing, but  I  saw  as  I  looked  up  that  he  had  turned 
very  pale. 

"  Does  it  hurt  much  .'' "  I  ventured  anxiously, 
for  the  cut  was  a  deep  one. 

"  No,  not  a  bit.  It  is  only  the  sight  of  blood 
always  makes  me  feel  rather  sick.  That's  why 
I  go  on  looking  at  it.  It  is  so  silly  to  mind 
those  things." 

He  had  not,  however,  an  opportunity  for  look- 
ing at  it  much  longer,  for  Georges  of  Saint- 
Loubouet  came  out  of  the  forge  at  that  moment, 
and  seeing  the  stained  handkerchief  which  Hec- 
tor had  unwound  again  from  his  hand,  he 
came  and  asked  us  what  was  the  matter.  We 
explained  what  we  had  been  trying  to  do,  and 
he  solved  our  difficulty  for  us  in  a  minute. 


HECTOR.  6l 

"  Bind  up  your  hand,"  he  said  to  Hector, 
•*  and  come  along  in  here.  My  uncle  is  the 
man  you  want." 

"  Blow  your  fire,"  he  continued  good-naturedly 
to  his  uncle  as  we  passed  into  the  forge,  "  I  have 
brought  you  a  big  job  now.  Here  are  two  chil- 
dren who  want  to  pierce  two  peach-stones.  They 
began  cleverly  enough  by  piercing  themselves, 
'but  they  forgot  to  swallow  the  peach-stones 
first,  so  they  are  obliged  now  to  have  recourse 
to  you." 

"  Let  us  see — let  us  see,"  said  Pierre,  work- 
ing his  bellows.  And  in  five  minutes  more 
Hector's  peach-stones  were  all  laid  on  the  anvil, 
where  a  red-hot  nail  worked  by  a  master  hand 
soon  made  in  them  the  holes  we  needed. 

Georges  left  the  forge  as  soon  as  he  had  put 
us  in  his  uncle's  hands,  but  Pierre  listened 
good-naturedly  to  all  Hector  had  to  say  about 
the  uses  to  which  he  intended  to  put  his  peach- 
stones,  and  looked  at  the  engraving  in  order  to 
make  our  holes  of  the  exact  size. 

"Tiens!"  he  said.  "What  one  learns  by 
being  able  to  read.  Read  me  a  bit  now  that  I 
may  see  how  they  say  it  in  the  book." 

Hector  read  aloud  as  he  was  asked ;  and  I 
wondered  what  he    meant  by  saying   to    Soeur 


J 


t)2  HECTOR. 

Ara^lie  that  he  could  only  read  a  little.  He 
read  beautifully,  far,  far  better  than  I,  and,  I 
thought,  than  Soeur  Amelie  either. 

"That's  fine  that!"  said  the  smith;  "Ah, 
Esquebesse  is  the  man  for  you.  He'd  like  to 
see  that  book  too,  and  he'll  tell  you  all  about 
birds.  He  knows  their  haunts  for  twenty  miles 
round.     Good-day,  M.  Baptiste  !  " 

The  burly  form  of  Baptiste  the  miller  filled 
the  doorway.  He  wanted  his  horse  shod,  and 
Pierre  had  to  attend  to  him  at  once.  He  was 
one  of  Grand'mere's  well-to-do  tenants.  Thej' 
said  in  the  neighborhood  that,  besides  his  mill, 
he  had  saved  at  least  four  hundred  pounds,  with 
which  he  had  bought  railway  shares  ;  and  though 
his  family  had  not  held  the  mill  for  anything 
like  the  number  of  generations  that  Georges' 
family,  for  instance, .  had  held  the  Saint-Lou- 
bouet  farm,  he  was  not  a  new-comer,  and  he 
was  treated  with  consideration  in  the  country. 
He  was  past  forty  now,  but  he  was  not  married, 
and  a  single  life  seemed  to  agree  with  him. 
His  round,  red,  fat  face  beamed  prosperously 
above  his  blouse,  and  his  comfortable  propor- 
tions and  well-kept  clothes  spoke  of  no  stint  or 
mismanagement  at  home.  "  They  told  me  your 
nephew  Georges  was  here,"  we  heard  him  say 
as  Pierre  bent  over  the  horse's  hoof. 


HECTOR.  63 


"  He  is  out,"  Pierre  answered  shortly. 

"Where  has  he  gone?" 

"  As  if  I  knew  !  Gone  up  to  pay  his  resjjects 
to  Madame  Loustanoff  very  likely.  He  will  be 
back  with  me  at  six  o'clock." 

This  last  was  with  a  good-humored,  open  air, 
but  as  he  came  into  the  forge  to  fetch  some  nails, 
Pierre  said  to  us  in  a  low  quick  voice,  "  You 
are  going  down  to  the  woods  over  there } " 

"Yes." 

"  Then,  if  you  see  Georges,  tell  him  the  miller 
is  here  inquiring  for  him.     You  won't  forget  ?" 

Without  giving  us  time  to  answer  he  went 
back  to  the  shoeing  of  the  miller's  horse,  but 
though  we  did  not  understand  why,  we  saw  very 
well  that  he  did  not  wish  our  mission  to  be  men- 
tioned before  the  miller.  We  therefore  said  no 
more  about  it  as  we  followed  him  out  of  the 
forge.  Only  as  we  stood  for  a  moment  to  watch 
the  shoeing,  Hector  asked  how  much  there  was 
to  pay  for  our  peach-stones. 

"How  much  money  have  you  got.?"  asked 
Pierre,  laughing. 

"  I  have  plenty  of  money,"  said  Hector,  put- 
ting his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  pulling  out  three 
gold  Napoleons,  "but  that  hasn't  anything  to 
do,  has  it,  with  what  you  ought  to  make  me 
pay  .? " 


64  HECTOR. 

"  It  has  generally  a  good  deal  to  do  with  what 
I  make  my  customers  pay.  But  keep  your 
money,  my  child,  I  don't  want  any," 

"  That  is  not  the  way  to  do  business,"  said 
the  miller,  as  he  puffed  his  cigarette;  "I  don't 
approve  of  those  generosities  —  I  don't  say  in 
this  case.  What  you  have  done  is  no  doubt  a 
email  thing,  and  then  it  is  for  Madame  Loustan- 
off ;  but,  as  a  rule,  those  who  can't  pay  for  things 
should  not  want  them,  and  you  ruin  yourself  in 
working  for  paupers." 

"  I  am  not  as  rich  as  you,  M,  Baptiste,  but  I 
am  rich  enough ;  and,  be  easy,  I'll  make  you 
pay,  at  all  events,  for  the  work  I  do  for  you." 

We  all  laughed  at  the  fervor  of  Pierre's  assur- 
ance, and  Hector  said  : 

"  You'd  better  let  me  pay  too,  for  I'm  sure 
only  to  lose  my  money;  I  nearly  always  do." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Pierre.  "  There's  nothing 
for  you  to  pay.  But  that's  a  lot  of  money  for 
you  to  carry  loose  in  your  pocket.  You  ought 
to  give  it  to  some  one  to  keep." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Hector,  "  will  you  keep  it 
for  me .-'  Grandpapa  gave  it  to  me  when  he  was 
going  away,  and  I'm  certain  to  lose  it  unless 
some  one  takes  care  of  it." 

"And   what   tells   you  that  I  am    honest.?" 


HECTOR.  65 


asked  Pierre.  "  You  have  only  known  me  since 
this  morning." 

Hector  paused  a  moment  and  considered 
deeply. 

**  I  think  it's  because  you  seem  to  care  more 
about  other  people  than  about  yourself,"  he  said 
then,  "  and  if  you  care  more  about  them  you 
can't  want  to  take  their  things." 

"And  I  know  you  are  honest,"  I  said, 
"because*!  have  known  you  all  my  life." 

"  Allons,  I'll  take  your  money,"  said  Pierre, 
"  and  keep  it  at  all  events  till  you  come  back 
this  evening.  It  would  be  a  pity  to  lose  it  down 
in  those  woods.  And  now  be  off;  you  haven't 
a  moment  to  spare  if  you  want  to  catch  any 
birds  before  dark  to-night." 


66  HECTOR. 


CHAPTER  V. 

TT /"E  were  soon  down  in  the  woods,  and  once 
there,  the  interest  of  eating  owx-  gotlter 
and  of  scraping  out  our  peach-stones  as  a  pre- 
liminary to  producing  the  promised  clear,  full 
note  which  was  to  delude  the  larks,  so  absorbed 
us  that  we  thought  no  more  of  Pierre  or  the 
miller,  or  the  message  given  us  for  Georges. 
We  did  not  find  the  kernels  of  the  stones  very 
easy  to  scrape  out  with  a  bent  pin,  which  was 
the  only  instrument  we  possessed  small  enough 
to  penetrate  to  the  innermost  corners  of  the 
nutshell ;  but  with  patience  we  succeeded  at 
last,  and  then  we  sat  on  the  stump  of  an  old 
chestnut-tree  and  whistled  till  our  cheeks  ached 
with  blowing  and  our  sides  with  laughter.  I 
need  not  say  that  our  notes  were  not  in  the 
least  like  the  notes  of  larks.  If  they  were  clear 
and  full,  that  virtue  was  due  to  the  healthy  state 
of  our  own  lungs  and  throats;  the  peach-stones 
counted  for  very  little  in  the  sounds  which  we 


HECTOB.  67 


produced.  But  when  we  had  laughed  our  fill, 
and  I  had  grown  tired  of  trying  to  whistle,  Hec- 
tor became  serious,  and  pulling  the  "  Avicepto- 
logie"  out  of  his  pocket,  applied  himself  in  ear- 
nest to  learn  the  lark-call.  The  book  gave  exact 
directions  about  the  manner  in  which  the  whistle 
should  be  held ;  and  after  a  time,  whilst  I 
amused  myself  looking  through  the  plates  and 
asking  questions  which  remained  all  unanswered, 
Hector,  with  reiterated  endeavors,  succeeded  in 
drawing  a  note  from  the  peach-stone  itself. 

His  face  flushed  with  pleasure.  "  It's  not  a 
good  note,  and  it's  not  much  like  a  lark's  cry," 
he  said,  "  but  it  is  a  note  made  with  the  peach- 
stone.  Listen !  when  I  whistle  without  the 
stone  the  sound  it  quite  different." 

It  was  true ;  and  his  perseverance  had  roused 
my  listlessness  into  renewed  interest.  I  did  not 
attempt  to  produce  the  sound  myself,  but  I 
made  him  try  it  again  and  again,  till  he  was 
quite  sure  of  it,  and  we  were  both  of  opinion 
that  it  really  was  growing  clear  and  full. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  "  the  thing  to  do  is  to  find 
out  where  some  larks  live,  that  we  may  come 
and  listen  to  them  every  day  and  try  to  imitate 
their  sounds.  They  might  very  likely  be  build- 
ing now ;  the  end  of  March  and  April  is  their 


68  HECTOR. 


time,  and  the  young  birds  won't  be  out  till  May  ; 
so  we  should  have  good  opportunities." 

"  How  did  you  find  out  so  much  about  birds, 
Hector  ? "  I  asked.  "  Did  your  grandfather 
teach  you  that  too  ?  " 

"  Hush  !  No.  You  can  learn  anything  you 
like,  when  you  know  how  to  read.  Don't  chat- 
ter, I  want  to  listen." 

It  was  late  now  in  the  afternoon.  The  sun 
was  so  low  that  the  shadows  of  the  trees  crossed 
each  other  in  long  drawn-out  perspective  over 
the  patches  of  shining  white  and  mauve  anem- 
ones and  green  tufts  of  daffodil  spikes  which 
broke  the  russet  of  last  year's  fallen  leaves,  and 
the  wood  was  alive  with  the  cries  of  little  birds 
going  to  roost.  Sweet  and  harsh,  clear  and 
muffled,  low  and  shrill,  they  answered  each  other 
across  the  hollow,  till  we  could  have  believed 
that  every  bud  and  branch  had  its  voice  and  that 
the  trees  were  singing  in  chorus. 

In  such  a  confused  medley  of  sound,  I  could 
not  have  distinguished  any  special  note  with  the 
least  hope  of  following  it  up;  but  after  listening 
attentively  for  a  few  moments,  Hector  made  me 
a  sign  to  follow  him,  and  began  to  steal  away 
on  tiptoe  over  the  leaves.  At  last,  I  too  fancied 
I  heard  amonirst  the  other  sounds  a  low  sweet 


HECTOR.  09 


note  down  in  the  hollow,  which  was  repeated 
from  time  to  time;  and  stopping  occasionally  to 
listen,  we  made  our  way  down  into  the  thicker 
part  of  the  wood  where  the  path  wound  through 
it  to  the  village.  As  we  reached  the  place 
whence  we  thought  the  bird's  song  proceeded, 
the  sound  ceased ;  but  Hector  stopped  by  a 
spreading  daphne-bush  and  whispered  : 

"  It  was  a  woodlark,  and  I'm  sure  it  came  from 
somewhere  near  here ;  but  perhaps  it  won't  sing 
while  it  sees  us.  Let  us  get  under  this  bush 
and  wait." 

"  Serpents  !  "  I  whispered  in  an  agony  as  I 
saw  him  lifting  the  low  boughs  of  the  daphne; 
but  his  only  answer  as  he  slid  underneath  the 
glossy  screen  was  an  indifferent    "  Don't  come." 

He  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  look  at  me, 
but  I  fancied  the  expression  of  his  face  the 
same  as  when  he  had  called  me  "  a  regular  little 
French  girl  ;  "  and  after  a  moment  of  desperate 
struggle  with  myself  I  stooped  and  whispered, 
"  Is  there  room  enough  for  me,  Hector  ?  " 

"  Plenty,"  he  answered ;  and  I  wriggled  in 
beside  him. 

"  Plenty  of  room  for  you,  and  a  few  serpents 
too,"  he  said.  But  this  time  he  spoke  kindly, 
and  though  I  shook  with  fear  I  felt  quite  happy. 


70  HECTOR. 

Finding  that  I  remained  unbitten,  I  became 
convinced  after  a  few  moments  that  we  had 
intruded  upon  no  serpent's  nest,  and  as  Hector 
curled  himself  round  on  one  side  of  the  daphne- 
stem,  breaking  off  a  few  small  branches  to  make 
room  for  his  head,  I  followed  his  example  on  the 
other  side,  till  we  were  soon  established  in  the 
greatest  comfort  like  two  little  tailors  under  a 
tent.  Hector  had  his  peach-stone  ready,  and 
we  listened  in  silence  for  the  lark.  We  waited 
very  patiently,  but  it  did  not  sing  again ;  and 
presently,  instead  of  the  notes  of  the  lark,  we 
heard  the  sound  of  steps  approaching;  and 
human  voices,  speaking  low,  came  to  us  through 
the  trees. 

"Because,  listen  to  me,  Irma,"  a  voice  was 
saying  which  we  recognized  directly  as  that  of 
Georges.  "  It  is  that  I  have  loved  you  so  long 
I  can't  get  over  the  habit  now,  and  if  you  play 
me  false,  I  must  go  away  and  begin  a  new  life. 
I  shall  care  no  more  for  Saint  Loubouet,  if  all 
its  fields  are  to  remind  me  of  you  when  you  are 
married  to  some  one  else.  If  I  cannot  share 
my  little  comforts  with  you,  it  is  no  use  to  me 
that  I  am  my  father's  only  son.  I  shall  only  be 
sorry  that  he  must  be  left  childless  and  desolate 
in  his  old  age ;  for  you   know   me,   Irma  ;  you 


HECTOR.  71 

have  known  me  since  I  was  a  little  boy,  and  you 
know  I  am  too  fiery  to  live  here  if  you  marry 
any  other  man  than  me.  It  would  be  stronger 
than  I,  I  will  volunteer  when  my  time  is  up 
for  an  African  regiment,  and  perhaps  out  there, 
with  the  sea  between  us,  I  shall  manage  to  for- 
get you." 

"  But  no,  Georges,"  Irma  said.  "  It  will  not 
be  I  who  will  send  you  over  the  sea." 

"  They're  making  love  !  "  Hector  whispered 
to  me  with  excitement  quite  as  great  as  my  own ; 
and  without  the  least  thought  of  our  indiscre- 
tion, we  put  our  two  heads  together  and  peeped 
through  an  opening  in  the  daphne -leaves  as 
silently  and  cautiously  as  if  we  had  been  watch 
ing  the  proceedings  of  the  woodlark  itself.  They 
were  walking  down  the  path  together.  Irma 
had  her  distaff  in  her  belt  and  she  was  spinning 
as  she  went ;  but  she  did  not  seem  to  me  to  be 
thinking  much  of  the  evenness  of  her  thread. 
Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  and  her  dark  eyelashes 
wet  with  unusual  tears.  Georges'  face  was 
turned  towards  her.  He  seemed  to  be  very 
rnuch  in  earnest. 

"I  tell  you  all  that,  Irma,"  he  said,  "just 
that  you  may  know.  For  when  I  was  away  at 
Montfort  and  I  heard  rumors,  I  lay  awake  think- 


72  EFCTOB. 

ing,  and  I  thought  it's  a  long  time  since  she  has 
seen  me,  and  perhaps  she  thinks  I  am  forgetting 
her,  and  that  it  will  make  no  difference ;  and 
then  I  thought  to  myself,  it  is  only  fair  to  let 
her  know  the  difference  it  will  make  ;  for  I  know 
you  have  a  good  heart,  Irma,  and  you  love  my 
father,  and  you  promised  to  be  a  daughter  to 
him.  Then,  if  you  marry  some  one  else,  you 
rob  him  of  both  his  children.  And  you  who 
have  known  him  all  your  life,  you  know  it  would 
break  his  heart  for  the  land  to  go  after  him  to 
some  other  than  me.  We  have  held  that  land 
of  the  Loustanoffs  now,  from  father  to  son,  near 
four  hundred  years.  I  love  the  land  too,  Irma. 
It  is  there  I  was  born ;  it  is  near  there  my 
mother  is  buried.  I  had  always  hoped  to  live 
there  with  you,  and  that  the  old  man  would  see 
our  little  ones  about  him  there  before  he  died. 
And  when  I  was  lying  awake  thinking  at  Mont- 
fort,  I  thought,  she  has  a  good  heart ;  she  would 
not  work  this  ruin  if  she  knew  the  difference  it 
would  make.  I  can't  impose  upon  you  to  make 
you  think  me  better  than  I  am,  for  you  have 
known  me  all  my  life.  I  don't  know  how  to 
speak  well,  Irma,  and  I  know  I  am  not  much 
myself  for  you  to  be  faithful  to ;  but  it  is,  do  you 
see,  that  you  premised  the  old  man  to  be  his 


HECTOR.  73 


daughter,  and  that  it  would  make  such  a  differ- 
ence." 

He  stopped  nearly  opposite  the  daphne-bush, 
seeming  to  entreat  an  answer,  and  she  put  her 
hand  out  to  him  and  said,  as  she  looked  up  with 
the  color  mounting  in  her  cheeks : 

"  It  is  that  you  are  much  to  me,  Georges.  It 
is  not  because  I  have  promised  the  old  man,  but 
because  I  have  promised  you  yourself  that  I 
will  be  faithful  to  you." 

Georges  squeezed  the  little  brown  hand  she 
gave  him. 

"Ah!  Irma,"  he  said,  "if  you  knew  the  good 
it  does  me  to  hear  you.  You  don't  understand 
that,  you,  but  when  a  man  is  far  away  and  he 
lies  there  thinking,  and  they  have  told  him  how 
all  the  men  at  home,  cleverer  and  richer  than 
he,  are  trying  to  get  his  sweetheart,  and  he 
thinks  how  he  is  stupid  and  plain,  with  nothing 
to  recommend  him  and  that^she  is  growing  pret- 
tier and  prettier  every  day, —  then  it  is  like  a 
great  sickness  here  to  think  she  will  not  stick  to 
him.  And  when  I  come  home  to  find  you 
remember  still.  Ah  !  it  makes  a  baby  of  me." 
He  dashed  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  and  then 
they  walked  on  again  side  by  side. 

The  next  thins  we  heard  was  Irma's  voice : 


74  HECTOR. 

"  I  only  say  to  you  what  I  say  to  every  one. 
I  will  never  marry  any  other  man  but  you 
unless  I  am  forced  into  it  against  my  will." 

"Unless  you  are  forced  into  it!  How  can 
they  force  you  if  you  choose  to  say  No .-' " 

"  Ah !  Georges,  you  know  we  must  obey  our 
parents,  and  they  make  my  life  hard,  allez, 
because  I  have  waited  for  you.  But  they  gave 
their  promise  themselves  to  wait  till  your  time 
was  up,  and  I  will  hold  out  till   then." 

"  It  will  not  be  long  now,  only  ten  months 
more;  and  I  shall  be  here  in  the  autumn  with 
the  soldiers." 

"  You  will  not  fail,  Georges  .'*  " 

"  Fail !  how  should  I  fail  .-•  The  whole  of  the 
1 8th  Corps  will  move,  and  the  manoeuvres  are 
to  extend  over  this  very  ground.  It  will  be  hard 
indeed  if  we  don't  meet.  Who  knows  but  I 
may  be  quartered  in  your  very  house  !  " 

"It  is  my  father  who  will  be  pleased  in  that 
case.  He  who  loves  soldiers  so  mucl> !  "  They 
both  laughed  aloud  a  merry,  light-hearted  laugh. 

"It  is  all  one,"  said  Georges,  "I  don't  love 
them  myself  much  more  than  he,  and  he  will 
like  me  again  when  he  sees  you  at  St.  Loubouet." 

"  But,  Georges,  if  you  were  kept  at  Montfort  ? " 

"  I  shall  not  be  kept  at  Montfort.     My  Col- 


HECTOE.  75 

onel  is  kind  to  me ;  he  knows  that  ray  home  is 
here,  and  only  yesterday  he  tcld  me  to  tell  my 
parents  I  should  see  them  again  in  the  autumn." 

"  I  know  you  are  his  orderly,  and  he  favors 
you — your  father  told  me  that ;  but  if  he  were 
to  keep  you  with  him  at  Montfort  ?  It  is  that 
Georges,  I  shall  want  you  in  the  autumn.  The 
busy  season  will  be  here  soon,  and  there  will  be 
no  more  question  of  marriages  now  till  the  har- 
vests are  over ;  but  I  will  speak  frankly  to  you ; 
you  know  how  it  is  at  the  Saint-Martin.  They 
ask  my  father,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  say  No  wheu 
every  one  is  against  you.  And  then — and  then 
they  say  you  have  your  cousin  at  Montfort,  and 
that  you  go  to  see  her  every  Sunday ;  and  they 
laugh  at  me  to  wait  for  a  man  who  does  not 
think  of  me.  And  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of 
it,  but  it  vexes  me  to  hear  her  spoken  of  so 
much." 

"  Ha !  they  tell  you  that,  do  they  ?  Well,  it 
is  true  that  I  spend  part  of  every  Sunday  with 
my  uncle,  and  I  see  Marie  there  when  I  go. 
But  it  is  not  true  that  I  think  once  of  her  in  the 
week  between  whiles,  and  if  you  like  better, 
Irma,  for  me  to  stay  in  barracks  on  Sunday  after- 
noons I  will  stay  in  barracks." 

"  No,    Georges,    I    am    not   so   selfish ;    and, 


76  HECTOR. 


besides,  I  trust  you.  But  you  will  not  fail  me 
when  the  soldiers  come." 

"  Listen,  Irma  ! "  They  stood  still  again. 
Georges  raised  his  head,  and  then  we  heard  the 
woodlark's  cry.  "  You  know  that  call  well.  One 
day,  when  the  soldiers  are  here,  you  will  be 
spinning  in  the  porch,  and  you  will  hear  it  three 
times,  thus." 

We  listened,  and  heard  the  woodlark  call  its 
mate,  as  Georges  said,  three  times  before  we 
fully  understood.  Then,  as  it  dawned  upon 
Hector  that  Georges  was  the  lark  we  had  been 
tracking,  he  shook  so  with  suppressed  chuckling, 
that  I  was  afraid  the  rustling  of  the  branches 
would  betray  our  presence.  I  suppose,  however, 
that  Georges  was  thinking  only  of  Irma,  and 
Irma  only  of  Georges,  for  they  paid  no  atten- 
tion, though  the  daphne-leaves  shook  under  their 
very  eyes. 

"And  when  you  hear  it,"  Georges  continued, 
"you  will  come  down  spinning  into  the  wood, 
where  you  will  not  be  long  alone." 

My  position  under  the  daphne-bush  was  be- 
coming intolerably  uncomfortable.  In  kneeling 
up  to  peep  at  the  two  lovers  I  had  put  myself 
into  a  strained  attitude,  which  forced  me  to 
throw   nearly  all  my  weight  upon  a  branch,  on 


HECTOR.  77 

which  my  right  hand  rested.  My  arm  and  back 
were  aching,  my  head  was  twisted,  some  twigs 
upon  which  I  knelt  were  pressed  most  painfully 
into  my  knee,  I  felt  that  in  another  moment  I 
must  move,  cost  what  it  would,  when  suddenly 
the  branch  upon  which  I  was  leaning  gave  way, 
and  crash  through  the  lower  twigs  I  went  to  the 
ground.  Hector's  hand  griping  my  frock  firmly 
at  the  waist,  alone  prevented  me  from  rolling 
ignominiously  out  at  the  feet  of  Georges  and 
Irma.  Hurt  as  I  was,  I  had  the  presence  of 
mind  to  stifle  the  exclamation  which  rose  to  my 
lips,  and  while  Georges  and  Irma,  startled  at  the 
extraordinary  and  unexpected  sound,  looked, 
fortunately  for  us,  in  every  direction  but  the 
right  one  first.  Hector  and  I  lay  trembling,  we 
scarcely  knew  whether  most  with  laughter  or 
most  with  fear,  upon  the  ground. 

Had  they  stayed  five  minutes  longer  they 
must  have  discovered  us,  but  Irma  was  fright- 
ened by  the  noise ;  and  though  Georges  assured 
her  it  was  but  a  squirrel,  or  perhaps  a  weasel 
chasing  a  rabbit  through  the  bushes,  she  said 
that  it  was  time  for  her  to  be  going  home.  The 
sun  was  low,  and  her  father  would  be  angry  if 
she  were  seen  out  in  the  dusk. 

"  But,  Georges,  listen  no  more  to  what  they 


78  HECTOR. 

say  at  Montfort.  I  will  wait  for  you,  and,  if 
anything  should  keep  you  in  the  autumn,  you 
will  write  to  your  uncle  and  he  will  let  me 
know." 

"  I  will  not  fail,"  said  Georges.  "  I  will  write 
to  my  uncle  Pierre,  and  as  he  cannot  read,  it  is 
you  whom  he  will  ask  to  read  his  letter  to  him. 
I  will  arrange  all  that ;  but  he  is  sharp,  I'oncle 
Pierre,  he  needs  no  telling." 

They  were  walking  away  while  they  spoke, 
and  now  they  turned  a  corner  which  took  them 
out  of  our  sight.  In  an  instant  Hector  and  I 
were  out  of  our  hiding-place. 

"  I  would  like  to  know  how  long  he  took  to 
learn  that  lark-call,"  said  Hector;  "let's  see  if 
it  was  like  this."  Hector  made  a  call  as  he 
spoke  upon  his  peach-stone ;  but  my  mind  was 
too  full  of  Irma  and  Georges  to  listen. 

"  I  wonder  if  Pierre's  message  had  anything 
to  do  with  ^/lat,"  I  said,  nodding  my  head  after 
the  two  lovers,  and  full  of  importance  at  the 
thought  that  we  were  being  used  perhaps  in 
such  great  matters. 

"  He  said  we  were  to  be  sure  and  not  forget. 
I  et  us  run  across  and  give  it  to  them  before 
they  get  up  on  the  high-road.  They  will  never 
guess  that  we  come  from  here." 


UECTOB.  79 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  CIRCUIT  through  the  woods  brought  us 
in  a  minute  or  two  face  to  face  with 
Georges  and  Irma.  The  consciousness  of  our 
knowledge  caused  us  to  blush  guiltily  as  we 
delivered  our  message,  but  I  could  see  by  the 
effect  it  had  upon  them  that  we  were  right  to 
have  carried  out  Pierre's  instructions.  They 
both  looked  embarrassed,  and  when  Irma  said — 
"  Then  I  won't  go  on  with  you,  Georges,"  he 
made  no  attempt  to  persuade  her. 

I  was  so  fascinated  by  my  interest  in  these 
real  living  lovers,  that  I  would  have  stood  there 
open-mouthed  to  stare  at  them  as  long  as  they 
remained  together,  if  Hector  had  not  pulled  my 
dress  and  walked  on  himself  in  leisurely  fashion 
down  the  path. 

"  What  were  you  staying  there  to  look  at 
them  for  .'' "  he  said.  "  They  couldn't  say  good- 
bye while  you  were  there." 

**  Why  not .''  "  I  asked  innocently. 

"  Because  Georsres  must  go  down  on  his  knees 


8o  HECTOR. 


to  kiss  her  hand,  or  they  must  fall  into  each 
other's  arms,  or  something  like  that ;  lovers 
always  do  when  they  bid  each  other  good-bye, 
and  they  couldn't  you  know,  while  you  stood 
staring  at  them." 

"  How  do  you  know  lovers  always  do  that  ? " 

"  Oh,  because  I  have  read  about  them  in  the 
library  at  home,  lots  of  them,  and  they  always 
do.  At  least,  I  don't  know  though  ;  perhaps  it 
is  only  gentlemen  lovers.  Sir  Charles  Grandi- 
son  and  the  lovers  I  have  read  about  are  all  gen- 
tlemen, and  I  don't  believe  Georges  is  such  a 
fool." 

This  thought  seemed  rather  to  relieve  Hector's 
mind,  and  he  said,  after  a  minute's  reflection, 
"  When  I  marry,  I  don't  intend  to  marry  a  lady." 

"  Why  not .?  " 

'  Because  a  girl  like  Irma  is  much  better. 
Ladies  scream  and  wring  their  fair  white  hands, 
and  think  it  is  grand  to  pretend  they  don't  care 
about  you  a  bit  when  you  are  making  love  to 
them.  Now,  Irma  was  nice  and  kind  to  Georges, 
and  then  she  went  on  spinning  all  the  time,  and 
that's  so  much  more  useful.  Ladies  can  read 
and  write  a  little  more  than  Irma,  but  they  don't 
know  anything  much,  and  they  can't  do  any 
work,  and  I  don't  see  any  good  of  having  a  wife 
unless  she  can  be  of  some  use  to  you." 


HECTOR.  8l 

"  Hector,"  I  said,  as  we  approached  the  edge 
of  the  wood,  "  what  funny  books  you  seem  to 
have  read — the  Bible  and  novels  and  Babylonian 
history."  But  my  remarks  on  Hector's  reading 
were  cut  short  by  the  whining  voice  of  a  tramp 
whom  I  had  noticed  hanging  about  the  forge 
when  we  were  there. 

"  Could  the  little  gentleman  give  him  a  sou  .■'  " 
he  asked ;  he  was  hungry,  and  he  had  wilked  a 
long  way. 

Hector  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  but 
pulled  it  out  empty. 

"  I  forgot,"  he  said,  "  of  course  I  gave  all  my 
money  to  the  blacksmith  to  keep ;  what  a  pity. 
No,  I  have  nothing  for  you." 

"  Yes,  that's  it.  We  have  gold  pieces  for  our- 
selves and  nothing  at  all  for  the  starving,"  re- 
plied the  man,  with  sudden  change  of  voice  and 
an  evil  look.  "  You  think  perhaps  that  I  am 
going  to  believe  what  you  like  to  say  to  me,  but 
I  am  not  such  a  fool."  As  he  spoke  he  sud- 
denly approached  and  seized  Hector  by  the  col- 
lar. "  Now  then,  what  have  you  in  the  bottom 
of  your  pockets  } " 

Hector's   answer  was   two   swift  blows,   one 
after  the  other  as  fast  and  as  hard  as  he  could 
hit,  straight  up  into  the  man's  face.      He  was  a 
6 


82  HECTOR. 

great  lusty  fellow,  about  three  times  as  big  as 
Hector,  and  when  I  saw  the  wicked  angry  light 
that  flashed  into  his  eyes  as  he  raised  his  stick, 
I  was  so  terrified  that  the  shriek  I  uttered 
must  have  been  heard  up  at  Salaret. 

Down  came  the  stick.  If  it  had  struck  Hec- 
tor as  he  intended,  there  would  have  been  no 
need  for  another  blow ;  but  Hector  had  slipped 
in  some  wonderful  way  between  his  legs.  The 
force  with  which  he  had  struck  only  served  to 
make  the  man  lose  his  balance,  and  before  he 
had  recovered  himself,  the  hand  of  Pierre  the 
blacksmith  was  on  his  collar,  his  stick  had  been 
wrested  from  him,  and  with  all  the  strength  and 
adroitness  of  a  right  arm  accustomed  to  use  the 
hammer,  Pierre  was  belaboring  him  with  blows. 
I  could  not  bear  to  see  it,  even  though  the  man 
had  struck  Hector.  "  Enough,  Pierre,"  I  im- 
plored, "  enough,  you  will  kill  him  ! "  But 
Pierre  paid  no  attention  to  me,  and  I  hid  my 
face  in  my  hands  to  shut  out  the  horrible  sight. 

"  Let  me  alone  for  hitting.  I  am  not  a 
blacksmith  for  nothing,  and  I  know  how  to 
regulate  my  blows.  He  has  had  his  lesson 
good,  he'll  remember  it  too,  allez,  for  some  time 
to  come,  but  there's  not  a  bone  in  his  body 
broken.     That'll  teach  you  to  come  prowling  in 


IIECTOB.  83 


our  woods,  and  to  make  attempts  to  rob  children 
who  can't  defend  themselves.  I  heard  every 
word  that  passed,  you  villain ;  and  if  ever  I 
catch  you  off  the  high-road  in  Madame  Loustan- 
offs's  land  again,  you  will  receive  the  like  at  my 
hands."  Pierre's  voice  warned  me  that  the 
chastisement  was  over,  and  I  looked  up  to  see 
the  unfortunate  beggar  sitting  on  the  ground 
while  Pierre  stood  over  him  stick  in  hand,  but 
as  cool  as  if  he  had  just  beaten  out  a  horse-shoe 
on  his  own  anvil.  Esquebesse  had  sauntered  up 
with  his  two  dogs,  and  was  calmly  smoking  over 
the  scene.  Hector  alone  seemed  as  much  moved 
as  I  ;  with  a  face  as  white  as  marble  and  eyes 
strangely  bright,  he  stood  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  gazing  at  Pierre.  I  could  see  that  he 
had  not  missed  one  detail.  The  corners  of  his 
mouth  were  drooping,  but  if  the  face  was  as 
white,  it  was  as  firm  as  marble  too.  I  wondered 
what  he  thought  of  it  all.     He  did  not  speak. 

"  You  hit  hard,  Pierre,"  said  Esquebesse. 

"  I  was  right,"  said  Pierre.  "  Empty  your 
pockets  !  "  The  tramp  obeyed  without  a  word. 
I  was  surprised  to  see  him  so  submissive.  In 
one  pocket,  beside  his  knife,  there  was  a  heavy 
bundle  which  clanked  as  he  threw  it  out.  In 
obedience  to  a  gesture  from  Pierre  he  unfastened 


84  HECTOR. 

the  knotted  corners,  and  displayed  a  heap  of 
halfpence  which  must  have  been  worth  several 
francs.  From  his  other  trousers  pocket  he 
pulled  a  folded  newspaper,  and  as  he  turned  the 
pocket  inside  out  he  tried  to  slip  up  his  sleeve 
some  silver  and  a  ten  franc  piece  which  Pierre's 
quick  eyes  instantly  discovered.  In  his  blouse, 
a  flask  and  a  half-eaten  roll  with  a  good  slice  of 
ham  between  its  crusts,  had  been  thrust  out  of 
sight,  beneath  his  dirty  handkerchief. 

We  children  looked  on  stupefied. 

"You  see,"  Pierre  said  to  Esquebesse,  "he  is 
a  vicious  rogue.  He  is  not  poor,  he  is  not 
hungry,  and  he  would  have  used  violence  to 
steal  from  these  children.  I  am  for  justice,  and 
where  there  is  crime  I  would  have  chastisement. 
It  is  that,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  wretched 
creature  on  the  ground,  "  which  is  the  ruin  of  us 
honest  people.  He  will  not  work,  but  he  must 
eat  fine  bread  and  ham,  and  there  are  thousands 
like  him.  They  agitate  the  country,  and  we 
honest  people  dare  not  move,  for  we  know  well 
that  filth  is  there  at  the  bottom,  asking  nothing 
better  than  to  disseminate  itself  if  it  is  stirred." 

Esquebesse  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth 
and  slowly  puffed  away  a  mouthful  of  smoke. 
"You  are  right,"  he  said;  "it  is  they  who  ruin 
us.      Who  ruins  them  .■'  " 


HECTOR.  85 

Pierre  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  silence, 
and  then  turned  to  the  tramp, 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  From  Tarbes." 

"  Before  that  ? " 

"  From  Bayonne. 

"  You  were  born  in  the  South  ? " 

"  No,  I  am  a  Parisian  ; "  and  the  man  looked 
up  for  the  first  time  with  something  like  a  gleam 
of  pride. 

"  A  famous  Parisian !  What  are  your  par- 
ents.?" 

"  Is  that  your  business .''  It  is  nothing  to 
you  who  are  my  parents." 

"Answer,"  said  Pierre. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  them.  I  have  been  told 
that  I  was  born  at  the  factory." 

Esquebesse  had  taken  up  the  newswaper  and 
was  looking  at  it. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "that's  it,  born  in  the  factory, 
of  unknown  parents ;  and  afterwards  they  are 
nourished  with  stuff  like  this."  He  read  aloud 
as  he  spoke  from  the  newspaper : 

" '  The  people  is  above  the  law,  it  is  for  the 
people  now  to  efface  with  its  broad  foot  the  law 
which  it  has  written  in  the  sand,'  And  those 
are  not    the   words  of    an   obscure   newspaper 


86  HECTOR. 


writer ;  they  are  words  spoken  out  in  the 
daylight  before  all  France  by  a  man  who 
aspires  to  the  position  of  a  leader. 

"Ah!  we  want  leaders.  We  are  like  sheep 
without  any  shepherds.  Is  it  astonishing  that 
wolves  slip  in  amongst  us.''  In  England,"  (and 
he  turned  to  Hector,)  "  the  old  aristocracy  have 
not  abandoned  the  people  so,  they  have  kept 
their  rightful  place ;  they  work  for  the  people 
and  with  the  people ;  they  are  the  leaders ;  they 
employ  their  leisure  in  gaining  knowledge,  and 
their  knowledge  is  at  the  service  of  the  country. 
When  I  was  young,  I  went  to  England  with  M. 
le  Comte,  and  I  saw  your  aristocracy.  You 
have  your  share  of  young  idlers  and  dandies, 
but  it  is  not  they,  with  all  their  glitter,  who 
uphold  your  nobility.  You  have  still  in  your 
great  English  families  gentlemen  who  would 
hold  themselves  disgraced  if  they  did  not  work 
harder  for  their  country  than  any  of  the  laborers 
they  daily  see  work  for  themselves.  That  is 
what  I  understand  by  a  true  aristocrat,  and  that 
is  how  your  country  is  kept  straight.  Each 
class  does  its  own  work.  Those  who  have 
instruction  lead,  those  who  know  little  follow, 
We  have  made  noble  efforts,  we  French  people, 
but  here,  now  for  more  than  a  hundred  years, 


UECTOU.  87 


our  aristocracy  has  failed  us.  We,  who  know 
nothing,  have  been  forced  to  put  ourselves 
forward.  Ambition  was  soon  mixed  in  it,  and 
what  has  been  the  result  ?  —  convulsion  after 
convulsion  —  hope  lifting  the  nation,  and  then 
despair  It  is  for  those  whose  fortune  and 
position  is  assured  to  stand  in  the  front.  They 
can  disengage  their  mind  from  the  thought  of 
reward.  But  when  the  personal  ends  to  be 
gained  are  too  great,  who  can  say  that  his  eyes 
would  not  be  dazzled  by  the  flash  of  vainglory, 
nor  his  hand  turned  aside  to  grasp  power  for 
himself.?" 

Esquebesse  replaced  his  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
and  drew  from  it  a  long  whiff  of  smoke.  The 
man  at  his  feet  sat  without  attempting  to  rise, 
or  to  collect  the  contents  of  his  pockets,  which 
lay  scattered  on  the  dead  leaves  around  him. 
Dirty,  unshaven,  ragged,  the  top  of  his  head 
bald,  and  the  long  hair  around  falling  over  his 
ears  and  the  collar  of  his  coat,  he  seemed  to 
wait,  with  eyes  cast  down,  the  further  pleasure 
of  his  captors.  I  was  glad  he  did  not  raise  his 
eyes,  for  I  was  so  full  of  curiosity  1  could  not 
help  looking  at  him,  and  I  dreaded  at  the  same 
time  to  see  that  wicked  expression  again. 

Esquebesse  seemed  to  take  no  more  account 


88  HECTOR. 


of  his  presence  than  if  he  had  been  a  dead  rabbit 
or  a  weasel.  "  I  never  see  an  idle  rogue  like 
that,"  he  said,  "  without  thinking  of  the  idle 
gentlemerf  who  have  abdicated  their  rights. 
There  are  some  who  would  say  it  does  not 
concern  me,  but  as  one  gets  old,  tranquilly  in 
the  depths  of  one's  woods  the  mind  has  leisure 
to  occupy  itself  with  many  things  ;  and  you,  my 
little  gentleman,  it  concerns  you.  Look  well  at 
that  man.  Fix  him  in  your  memory  as  he  is 
there,  with  his  money  and  his  white  bread,  and 
his  newspaper  which  bids  him  efface  the  law,  for 
such  as  you  see  him,  with  his  attempt  to  steal  on 
his  conscience,  he  represents  crime.  It  is  per- 
haps the  first  time  you  have  seen  it,  and  you 
don't  understand  much  of  these  things  yet,  but 
keep  it  in  your  mind.  There  is  matter  there  for 
plenty  of  useful  reflection." 

Hector's  eyes  had  been  fixed  on  Esquebesse 
while  he  spoke.  He  looked  down  now  as  though 
literally  obeying  the  keeper's  directions.  I 
looked  down  too  at  the  man  sitting,  as  I  have 
described,  on  the  leaves,  with  rounded  back  and 
downcast  impenetrable  face.  In  the  midst  of  the 
silence,  not  knowing  that  we  were  all  watching 
him,  the  man  raised  his  head  a  little  and  flashed 
a  glance  at  Pierre.     It  was  as  though  he  had 


HECTOR.  89 

suddenly  opened  to  us  the  wickedness  of  his 
soul ;  his  eyes  were  so  keen,  so  cunning,  and  so 
malevolent,  that  they  seemed  to  bring  you  face 
to  face  with  hate  and  revenge  and  cruelty.  I 
shuddered  from  head  to  foot  as  I  met  them.  He 
perceived  that  we  were  all  looking  at  him. 
Instantly  the  eyelids  dropped  again,  and  the 
face  was  but  a  stolid  mask  once  more ;  but  as  I 
looked  over  at  Hector  I  could  see  by  his  strange, 
interested,  horror-stricken  expression  that  he  too 
had  caught  the  glance,  and  that  he  felt  crime 
was  terrible. 

"Allons!"  said  Pierre,  "enough  has  been 
said.  It  matters  little  to  me  where  evil  comes 
from  or  where  it  goes.  I  thrash  it  when  I  catch 
it  under  my  hand,  and  that  is  what  I  counsel  all 
honest  folk  to  do.  Get  up  now,"  he  added  to 
the  tramp,  "  and  since  I  have  given  you  the 
occasion  to  use  it,  I  will  give  you  also  a  little  oil 
to  rub  yourself  with  before  you  go  any  further. 
Pick  up  your  money.  None  of  us  would  soil  our 
fingers  with  stolen  coin." 

The  man  seemed  stiff  and  sore,  but  we  stood 
fascinated  and  watched  till  every  coin,  was 
picked  up,  and  his  knife  and  his  roll  and  his 
newspaper  replaced  in  the  pockets  from  which 
they  had  come.     Then  as  he  turned  to  follow 


90  HECTOR. 

Pierre  and  Esquebesse  to  the  forge  we  sped  up 
the  darkening  lane,  I  at  all  events  seized  with 
sudden  fear,  and  not  daring  to  look  behind  me 
till  I  reached  the  shelter  of  the  porch.  From 
there,  as  I  glanced  round,  I  saw  the  figures  of 
three  men  dark  against-  the  red  lights  of  the 
forge,  and  Georges  inside  quietly  lighting  his 
pipe  with  a  glowing  cinder.  But  I  had  no 
desire  to  watch  them  farther ;  I  was  too  glad  to 
run  down  the  passage  and  find  myself  in  our 
own  safe  kitchen,  where  Madelon  was  busy  with 
her  saucepans  and  Jean  was  washing  his  hands 
at  the  sink  in  preparation  for  his  supper. 


EECTOB.  91 


CHAPTER   VII. 

/^^  RAND'MERE  sat  in  the  dining-room  knit- 
^"^  ting  by  the  little  fire,  which  we  still 
enjoyed  in  these  chilly  spring  evenings.  The 
door  was  open  between  the  dining-room  and  the 
kitchen,  so  she  called  to  us  when  she  heard  our 
voices,  and  we  went  in  and  told  our  story. 
Madelon  came  in  too  to  lay  the  cloth  for  supper, 
and  her  indignation  was  great  at  the  recital. 
What  excited  her  most  was  that  our  beggar 
should  have  had  white  bread  to  eat. 

"Ah!  the  villain,"  she  said,  "yes,  that's  how 
it  is ;  we  honest  people  work  and  deny  ourselves, 
and  think  corn  bread  good  enough  for  every  day, 
and  the  rascals  who  are  not  worth  feeding  live 
on  the  fat  of  the  land.  Ah,  Tenez,  they  speak 
much  of  Providence ;  if  I  had  the  arrangement 
of  things,  it  would  not  be  the  good-for-nothings 
who  should  eat  white  bread." 

But  Grand'm^re  put  on  her  spectacles  and 
looked  sharply  through  them  at  Madelon. 


92  HECTOR. 


"That's  well,"  she  said,  "that's  very  well; 
that's  the  way  we  should  speak  before  children ! 
Fi  done,  mademoiselle,  I  should  have  thought 
you  had  more  good  sense." 

Madelon  was  close  upon  forty  at  this  time, 
but  she  had  lived  with  us  already  for  twenty 
years,  and  when  Grand'mere  was  vexed  she 
always  spoke  to  her  as  though  she  was  still  a 
little  girl.  On  this  occasion  Madelon  said  no 
more,  but  began  to  wind  up  the  lamp  on  the 
sideboard  and  Grand'mere  continued  to  us  : 

"  Did  that  man  seem  happy  to  you  with  his 
white  bread  and  his  smoked  ham  .'*  " 

"  Oh,  no  !"  we  both  cried  at  once. 

"  If  you  had  each  a  piece  of  corn  bread  and 
garlic  to  go  and  eat  in  the  woods,  would  you 
not  have  been  far  happier  than  he .'' " 

We  thought  of  how  we  had  enjoyed  ourselves 
down  in  the  woods  that  very  afternoon,  and  we 
told  of  the  fun  that  we  had  had. 

"And  the  reason  of  that  difference,"  Grand'- 
mere pursued,  "  is  that  you  are  innocent,  and 
he  is  guilty.  For  remember  well  this,  children, 
that  he  who  abandons  his  duty  is  not  only 
wicked,  he  is  a  very  great  fool,  for  he  abandons 
happiness  too.  With  innocence  the  simplest 
life  is  happy.     As  soon  as  you  begin  to  do  evil^ 


HECTOR.  93 

all  the  splendors  in  the  world  leave  you  miser- 
able. The  ways  of  Providence  are  inscrutable. 
We  do  not  understand  them  all,  but  there  is  no 
need  that  we  should  ;  for  nobody  that  I  know  of 
has  ever  asked  us  to  do  the  work  of  Providence. 
A  few  ignorant  people  who  imagine  themselves 
capable  of  understanding  everything,"  Grand'- 
m^re  raised  her  voice  with  some  asperity,  "will 
tell  you  that  they  could  arrange  the  world  much 
better ;  but  that  only  proves  that  they  have  as 
little  faith  as  they  have  good  sense.  I  tell  you 
that  we  see  here  below  a  very  little  piece  at  a 
time  of  the  great  scheme,  and  that  one  must  be 
mad  to  attempt  to  judge  that  of  which  we  hardly 
know  the  ABC.  During  my  long  life  I  have 
seen  that  the  dishonest  are  unhappy,  while  the 
honest  and  industrious,  and  those  who  know 
that  they  must  not  meddle  with  what  they  do 
not  understand,  are  happy.  And  that  seems  to 
me  enough  for  reasonable  people." 

Madelon  knew  as  well  as  we  did  that  the  last 
part  of  Grand'mere's  speech  was  intended  for 
her,  and  we  heard  her  muttering  in  the  kitchen 
as  she  carried  the  lamp  away  to  light,  but  she 
did  not  dare  for  the  moment  to  make  any  more 
remarks. 

Grand'mere's    supper   was    very    simple :    in 


94  HECTOR. 

winter  a  dish  of  vegetables  with  a  piece  of 
bread  comprised  her  whole  bill  of  fare,  and  in 
summer  a  salad,  a  pear,  or  a  bunch  of  grapes 
replaced  the  hot  dish  of  vegetables.  For  me 
there  was  always  a  boiled  Qgg,  and  how  can  I 
describe  the  lively  pleasure  I  felt  when  this 
evening  after  the  lamp  had  been  put  in  the 
middle  of  the  round  table,  and  the  dish  of 
haricots  set  as  usual  before  Grand'mere,  Made- 
Ion  brought  in  two  boiled  eggs  upon  a  plate 
instead  of  the  one  which  I  had  been  accustomed 
to  for  years.  It  seems  a  little  thing  to  take 
pleasure  from,  but  of  all  the  happy  sensations 
of  that  day  none  stays  with  me  more  vividly 
than  the  joy  I  felt  when  Madelon  brought  in 
our  two  eggs  and  I  realized  afresh  that  I  had  a 
companion  now  in  supper  and  in  everything. 

"  Monsieur  the  scoundrel  sups  no  doubt  on 
partridges,"  Madelon  remarked  audibly  to  Jean 
as  she  served  the  remainder  of  the  haricots  for 
their  supper  in  the  kitchen  ;  and  I  thought  in 
my  heart  that  Grand'mere  was  right;  no  matter 
what  he  had,  I  felt  sure  he  was  not  as  happy  as 
I  while  I  ate  my  egg  slowly,  looking  at  Hector, 

"  Yes,"  Grand'mere  said  when  supper  was 
finished  and  Madelon  had  cleared  the  table, 
"  Esquebesse  is  right ;  it  is  with  idleness  that 


HECTOR.  95 


crime  begins  ;  therefore  Zelie,  since  you  have 
amused  yourself  all  day,  you  will  fetch  your 
thimble  now,  and  help  me  to  make  blue  pina- 
fores for  Hector.  His  fine  clothes  will  soon  be 
spoilt  in  running  over  the  country  with  you  ; 
also,  such  a  dress  is  not  suitable.  And  you," 
she  said  turning  to  Hector,  "you  must  be  useful 
too.  If  you  know  how  to  read,  you  shall  read 
me  my  newspaper  while  I  work." 

I  had  been  surprised  to  see  Grand'm^re  pro- 
duce her  work-basket  after  supper,  for  as  long  as 
I  could  remember  it  had  been  her  custom  to 
devote  the  evening  hour  to  her  newspaper. 
The  only  sounds  ever  to  be  heard  in  the  dining- 
room  during  that  hour  were  the  ticking  of  the 
great  clock  in  the  corner,  and  the  occasional 
rustle  of  the  newspaper;  varied  in  winter  by  the 
tapping  of  the  evergreens  upon  the  window- 
pane,  and  in  summer  by  the  evening  songs  of 
the  birds  outside  in  the  orchard ;  and  I  had 
been  accustomed  whenever  I  wanted  conversa- 
tion to  carry  my  spinning  into  the  kitchen,  and 
sit  there  by  the  hearth,  or  on  the  doorstep, 
according  to  season,  chatting  with  Madelon 
while  she  went  about  her  work.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  me  that  Grand'm6re  could  give  that 
hour  up,  and  to  see  her  change  the  habi^  of  so 


96  HECTOB. 

many  years  in  order  to  work  for  Hector  made 
me  realize  how  kind  and  good  she  was.  I  was 
therefore  doubly  glad  that  she  told  Hector  to 
read  to  her — glad  for  Grand'mere's  sake  that  she 
should  not  altogether  miss  the  newspaper  she 
enjoyed,  and  glad  and  proud  that  she  should 
hear  how  beautiful  Hector  could  read. 

I  had  a  little  chair  of  my  own,  upon  which  I 
always  sat ;  but  there  was  no  little  chair  for 
Hector;  so  he  got  into  Bonpapa's  rush-bottomed 
armchair,  which  had  stood  empty  for  years 
beside  the  hearth.  It  was  too  high  for  his  feet 
to  touch  the  ground,  and  sitting  there  opposite 
to  Grand'mere  with  his  legs  crossed  and  one 
heel  resting  for  support  on  the  rung  of  the  chair, 
he  gravely  read  us  out  the  news  of  the  day. 

I  have  the  blue  pinafores  still  which  Grand'- 
mere and  I  made  that  spring  for  Hector.  They 
are  shabby  and  faded  now ;  but  I  never  see 
them  lying  in  a  corner  of  the  cupboard  where  I 
keep  my  linen  without  thinking  of  those  quiet 
evenings,  with  the  fire  of  vine  branches  crack- 
ling on  the  hearth  and  Hector's  voice  musical  in 
the  silence,  while  we  plied  our  needles  through 
the  dark-blue  stuff. 

I  understood  very  little  that  first  evening  of 
what   Hector  read.      It  was  chiefly  about   the 


HECTOR.  97 


army  and  the  length  of  time  that  men  should 
serve.  But  he  seemed  soon  to  become  inter- 
ested, and  he  began  to  ask  Grand'mere  questions, 
which  she  answered  as  gravely  as  if  he  had  been 
a  man  of  her  own  age.  She  told  him  about  our 
conscription  for  the  army,  which  they  do  not 
have  in  England.  He  hardly  would  believe  at 
first  that  all  our  young  men  had  to  go,  when 
they  were  twenty-one,  and  draw  lots  to  be 
soldiers  or  to  stay  at  home.  Grand'mere  told 
him  how  few  escape  by  drawing  good  lots  ;  and 
she  described  to  him  the  scene  in  the  market- 
place the  day  Georges  of  St.  Loubouet  went  to 
draw.  The  groups  dressed  in  their  Sunday 
clothes,  standing  about  talking  to  keep  up  their 
spirits  before  their  boys  went  in  to  draw ;  the 
anxious  mothers  and  fathers  standing  in  couples 
by  the  door  of  the  mairie  while  their  sons'  fate 
was  being  decided  within  ;  the  eager  looks  cast 
at  the  lot  stuck  in  each  lad's  hat  as  he  came 
out;  the  cries  of  joy  when  it  was  good,  the 
starting  tears,  the  silent  hand-shake,  the  de- 
spairing pallor,  when  it  was  bad.  "  Ah  !  "  she 
said,  "  it  would  have  needed  a  heart  of  stone  to 
see  old  Jcanti  standing  there  waiting  when 
Georges'  turn  came,  and  not  to  have  been 
touched  by  it.  His  wife  was  not  dead  then,  but 
7 


98  HECTOR. 

ill  in  bed  at  home,  and  he  stood  alone  close  by 
the  door  of  the  mairie.  When  I  saw  him  he 
was  leaning  on  his  stick  holding  his  cap  in  his 
hand,  and  the  wind  was  blowing  his  white  hair. 

"  '  I  am  saying  a  little  prayer,'  he  said  to  me, 
'while  the  lad  draws.  For  if  this  turns  badly,  I 
doubt  much  it  will  kill  the  wife.' 

"  I  joined  him  and  made  also  my  prayer  that 
Georges  might  succeed.  But  it  was  no  use. 
After  a  few  minutes  the  boy  came  out,  and  I 
could  see  the  fatal  lot  even  before  he  reached 
the  door. 

"  Jeanti  recognized  his  son  as  soon  as  I  did, 
but  in  his  trembling  eagerness  he  did  not 
perceive  the  lot. 

" '  How  has  it  gone,  Georges  .-*  I  don't  see 
clearly.' 

"  Georges  himself  was  as  white  as  a  ghost. 
'No  luck,  father;  I  must  go.'  And  the  old 
man  put  his  cap  upon  his  head  and  said  only  — 
*  God's  will  be  done.' 

"  He  was  not  mistaken,  it  killed  the  boy's 
mother ;  Georges  hadn't  been  gone  three  weeks 
when  she  was  in  her  grave.  Ah !  that  con- 
scription, it  is  the  scourge  of  the  country.  It 
takes  all  our  best  young  men," 

"It's  not   just,"   Hector  said.     "In  England 


HECTOR.  99 

no  one  could  take  them  and  send  them  against 
their  will  to  fight." 

"  Oh,  for  that,  yes,"  said  Grand'mere,  "  So 
long  as  the  country  wants  them,  it  is  just  that 
they  go.  But  it  is  war  which  is  sad,  and  the 
passions  of  men  which  make  war  necessary.  If 
Germany  is  to  burst  in  upon  us  again,  we  must 
be  ready  to  thrust  her  back,  and  who  so  fit  to 
defend  us  as  our  sons.  There  is  no  help  for  it, 
we  must  give  them ;  but  it  is  hard  for  the 
fathers  and  mothers." 

Then  she  began  to  describe  to  Hector  the 
hardships  of  a  soldier's  daily  life,  the  fatiguing 
sentry  work,  the  evil-smelling  barracks,  the 
scanty  food,  the  want  of  money,  the  separation 
from  all  they  loved;  till  he  said  in  his  thoughtful 
way-  — 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  to  be  a  good  French- 
man you  must  be  a  hero." 

"  Yes,"  said  Grand'mere,  "  and  as  all  the 
world  has  not  heroic  blood,  it  happens  that  we 
see  sometimes  very  bad  Frenchmen  like  your 
tramp  of  to-day." 

Hector  finished  the  newspaper,  and  then  at 
about  half-past  eight  Grand'mere  sent  us  to  bed. 
I. only  lay  awake  long  enough  to  hear  her  lock- 
ing the  doors  downstairs,  and  the  dogs  baying 


roo  nsCTOE. 

in  the  yard  as  Madelon  let  them  loose  for  the 
night.  Then  with  the  happy  feeling  that  we 
were  well  protected  against  foreign  enemies  and 
tramps  and  miseries  of  all  kinds,  I  fell  asleep  to 
dream  of  Hector  and  birds'-nests  and  the  bright 
spring  woods. 


HECTOR.  lOl 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

T  TECTOR'S  first  thought  in  the  morning  was 
of  birds  again.  He  was  out  in  the  woods 
before  sunrise  to  hear  them  wake.  I  could  not 
go  with  him,  for  Grand'm^re  told  me  to  watch 
the  milk  while  it  boiled ;  but  when  breakfast 
was  ready,  I  heard  the  welcome  sound  of  his 
peach  whistle  in  the  lane,  and  looking  out  I  saw 
him  sauntering  along  with  Esquebesse.  They 
stopped  under  the  elder-trees,  and  while  Esque- 
besse took  the  peach-stone  in  his  own  hands  to 
examine,  Hector  pulled  the  "  Aviceptologie " 
from  his  pocket  and  pointed  out  a  passage. 
One  of  the  dogs,  hoping  perhaps  for  something 
better  than  books,  poked  his  nose  into  the 
gaping  pocket,  but  neither  Hector  nor  the 
keeper  paid  any  attention  to  him. 

Esquebesse  took  the  volume  and  read  what 
Hector  had  pointed  out,  while  Hector  gazed  up 
anxiously  in  his  face.  Then  the  volume  was 
returned.     Esquebesse  nodded   in  confirmation 


I02  EECTOE. 


of  what  he  had  read,  and  stretched  his  hand  in 
the  direction  of  Cassagne.  They  were  talking, 
Hector  still  with  eager  upturned  face,  not  heed- 
ing in  the  least  where  he  went,  when  they 
reached  the  gate  and  Grand'mere  came  into 
the  porch. 

"  Good  mofning,  M.  Esquebesse.  T  see  with 
pleasure  that  the  little  lad  chooses  his  friends 
well.  But  if  he  is  as  hungry  as  he  was  yester- 
day he  would  do  well  not  to  accompany  you  just 
now,  for  his  breakfast  waits  in  there;  and  then 
later  the  Sister  will  come  for  the  schooling. 
Duty  must  pass  before  everything." 

"  Very  certainly,  madame.  I  am  not  taking 
him  away,  I  am  bringing  him  back.  I  also  have 
my  duties  to  attend  to  for  the  moment.  But  I 
shall  have  occasion  soon  to  visit  the  woods  out 
beyond  Cassagne,  and  if  you  permit  it  I  will 
take  him  with  me  when  I  go.  It  seems  he  has 
an  -ambition  to  become  a  bird-catcher." 

The  woods  beyond  Cassagne !  It  meant  the 
whole  afternoon  away  from  me  unless  M.  Esque- 
besse would  take  me  too.  I  dared  not  ask,  but 
I  suppose  my  face  betrayed  my  thought,  for  at 
that  moment  his  eyes  lighted  upon  me,  and  he 
added  good-naturedly,  "And  the  little  one  shall 
come  too  if  she  likes." 


HECTOR.  103 

"  With  you,  M.  Esquebesse,  they  are  in  good 
hands ;  you  will  take  them  where  you  like. 
Once  their  duties  are  attended  to  they  are  free. 
But  you  must  not  put  yourself  out  for  them." 

"  No  danger,  madame,  no  danger ;  you  know 
that  I  like  children.  Come  then  after  dinner," 
he  added  to  Hector,  "  to  my  own  house,  and  we 
will  see  what  we  can  do.  Zelie  knows  the  way. 
Good-morning,  Madame  Loustanoff." 

He  whistled  to  his  dogs  and  passed  on  down 
the  lane,  while  we  went  into  breakfast,  in  the 
kitchen,  full  of  delight.  Our  delight  was  changed 
to  sorrow  and  humiliation  when  Soeur  Amelie 
came;  for  then,  and  only  then,  did  we  remember 
the  sum  and  the  lessons  which  were  to  have 
been  done  for  her. 

She  was,  of  course,  very  angry ;  most  de- 
servedly so  with  me,  for  the  ways  of  the  house 
were  not  new  to  me,  and  I  had  no  excuse  for 
having  forgotten.  I  felt  exceedingly  penitent, 
and  would  have  tried  hard  to  do  a  double  number 
of  sums  that  morning  to  atone  for  my  fault ;  but 
Soeur  Amelie  had  so  much  to  say  about  our 
naughty  behaviour,  that  there  was  no  time  to 
prove  our  sorrow  by  our  acts.  Hector  did  not 
even  seem  to  feel  sorry.  He  sat  perfectly 
silent  under  the  reproaches  which  were  addressed 


I04  HECTOR. 

to  him,  flushing  a  little  at  first  when  Soeur 
Amelie  spoke  of  the  bad  end  to  which  the  idle 
and  disobedient  were  sure  to  come;  but  after- 
wards, while  she  expatiated  upon  the  theme,  I 
could  see  that  his  thoughts  were  far  away. 

"  Those  who  do  not  work  should  not  eat.  Do 
you  suppose  that  a  good  dinner  would  be  put 
upon  this  table  at  twelve  o'clock  to-day  if  others 
had  not  worked  ?  and  can  you  reconcile  it  to 
your  conscience  ? "  the  Sister  was  saying,  when 
Hector  started  from  his  chair,  with  a  joyous 
light  in  his  eyes,  and  cried  out — 

"  Why,  Zelie,  if  you  were  right  about  them, 
they  might  be  hatched  to-day.  I  quite  forgot  to 
look  this  morning." 

He  encountered  as  he  started  up  Soeur  Amelie's 
astonished  gaze,  and  suddenly  remembered  where 
he  was.  In  an  instant  he  had  banished  the  joy 
from  his  eyes,  and  with  what  must,  I  am  sure, 
have  been  a  tremendous  effort  of  politeness,  he 
put  on  an  expression  so  miserably  guilty  that  as 
he  sat  down  again  I  found  it  impossible  to  help 
laughing. 

I  knew  how  wrong  it  was  of  me,  I  felt  horribly 
wicked  ;  but  I  could  not  help  it,  the  laughter 
was  out  before  I  had  had  time  to  think. 

"  Oh !   ma  Soeur,   I  beg  your  pardon,"   I  ex- 


HECTOR.  105 

claimed  ;  "  I  know  I  should  not  have  laughed 
but  Hector's  face  was  so  funny." 

My  attempt  at  explanation  was  unfortunate ; 
Soeur  Amelie  would  hear  no  more. 

"  Funny  ! "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  you  find  his 
naughtiness  funny.  Then  it  is  time  for  your 
grandmother  to  let  you  hear  what  she  thinks  of 
such  drollery.  Madame  Loustanoff,"  she  called 
through  the  open  door  into  the  kitchen,  "will 
you  have  the  kindness  to  come  and  tell  these 
children  what  you  think  of  their  behaviouf  ."^  It 
seems  that  what  I  say  is  only  laughable." 

Madelon  called  back  from  the  sink,  where  she 
was  scouring  saucepans,  that  Madame  Loustanoff 
was  in  the  farm-yard  ;  and  I  heard  her  shout 
through  the  window,  in  patois,  to  Jean,  that  he 
was  to  find  Madame  Loustanoff  and  tell  her  that 
the  Sister  wanted  her  to  come  and  make  the 
children  listen  to  reason. 

I  sat  horror-stricken.  Such  a  thing  had  never 
happened  to  me  in  my  life  before,  as  to  have 
a  formal  complaint  of  my  behaviour  carried  to 
Grand' mere  ;  and  the  idea  of  bringing  her  in 
from  her  occupation  on  the  farm  only  for  the 
purpose  of  speaking  to  us  seemed  to  me  so 
monstrous,  that  I  gazed  at  Hector  in  blank 
dismay,  unable  even  to  find  words  for  a  suppli- 
cation. 


io6  HECTOB. 

Hector  also  seemed  to  feel  this. 

"It was  not  at  you,"  he  tried  to  explain,  "that 
Zelie  was  laughing." 

But  Soeur  Amelie  had  taken  the  strong  meas- 
ure and  was  prepared  to  support  it  now  with 
dignity. 

"  Silence,  sir,"  she  said,  "  you  will  exculpate 
yourself  to  Madame  Loustanoff." 

The  blood  rushed  into  his  cheeks ;  but  he 
was  silent,  and  then  we  all  sat  and  waited  for 
Grand'm^re. 

She  came  at  last  in  her  short  grey  dress  and 
sabots,  with  her  large  hat  tied  over  her  cap,  and 
the  bunch  of  big  keys  in  her  hand.  I  could  see 
by  the  firm  set  of  her  mouth  and  the  brightness 
of  her  little  dark  eyes  that  she  was  not  inclined 
to  be  trifled  with. 

Soeur  Amelie,  rather  whiter  than  usual  for 
anger,  poured  out  the  story  of  our  misbehaviour. 
We  had  begun,  she  said,  with  carelessness  and 
inattention  yesterday,  we  had  gone  on  with 
idleness,  and  when  she  blamed  us  for  leaving 
our  tasks  undone,  we  had  laughed  at  her  re- 
monstrances. 

We  sat  with  eyes  fixed  on  Grand'mere  while 
the  Sister  was  speaking.  Even  to  our  own  ears 
our  conduct,  thus  related,  sounded  indeed  inex- 


HECTOR.  107 

cusable,  and  I  knew  Grand'm^re  well  enough 
to  know  that  she  would  not  think  lightly  of 
misbehaviour, 

"  Hein  !  They  laughed  at  you  did  they?"  she 
said,  "  that  was  pretty,  very  pretty." 

"  It  was  Zelie  alone  who  laughed,"  explained 
the  Sister. 

"  Oh,  it  was  Zelie  alone  who  permitted  herself 
that  little  diversion  }  And  from  whence  do  you 
take,  mademoiselle,  these  airs  of  the  town .''  If 
it  is  from  our  little  gentleman  here,  the  sooner 
you  are  humiliated  before  him  the  better.  Pass 
me  that  distaff." 

My  empty  distaff  stood  in  the  corner  of  the 
dining-room  leaning  up  against  the  wall.  I 
fetched  it  as  Grand'mere  desired. 

"Stretch  out  your  hand,"  she  said. 

I  stretched  it  out  timidly  in  horrible  fear  of 
what  was  coming,  and  the  next  instant  a  smart 
blow  upon  the  palm  of  my  hand  made  my  arm 
tingle  to  the  shoulder.  It  was  not  the  pain 
alone  which  made  my  cheeks  burn,  and  the  tears 
start  suddenly  from  my  eyes ;  but  the  feeling  of 
shame  and  humiliation  which  overcame  me  was 
hardly  felt  before  Hector  caused  me  to  forget  it; 
for  no  sooner  was  my  hand  withdrawn  than  he 
pulled  his  from  his  pocket  and  thrust  it  forward, 


io8  HECTOR. 


saying — "It  was  as  much  my  fault  as  hers.  I 
made  her  laugh." 

Grand'mere  looked  at  him  sharply  for  an 
instant. 

"  If  your  fault  was  the  same  you  deserve  the 
same  punishment,"  she  said ;  and  she  brought 
the  distaff  down  upon  his  hand  with  a  blow 
every  bit  as  hard  as  the  one  she  had  given  me. 
Hector  did  not  seem  to  like  it  any  better  than  I 
did,  and  we  both  looked  ruefully  at  our  reddened 
palms,  while  Grand'mere  proceeded — 

"  And  they  have  been  idle  .''  Well,  there  are 
not  two  words  to  say  on  the  subject.  You 
understand  that  at  Salaret  the  idle  do  not  eat 
white  bread  and  smoked  ham.  It  is  a  question 
of  finishing  before  twelve  all  the  lessons  Soeur 
Amelie  sets  you,  or  Madelon  lays  but  one  place 
on  our  dinner-table." 

With  that  she  turned  round  and  went  away, 
and  Hector  an4  I  sat  down  very  quietly  to  our 
lessons.  I  found  my  slate  pencil  hard  to  hold 
in  my  hot  and  sore  right  hand,  and  looking 
across  the  table  I  saw  that  Hector  was  in 
equal  difficulty.  He  went  on  steadily,  how- 
ever, so  I  determined  to  go  on  steadily  too,  and 
for  a  time  no  sound  was  heard  but  the  squeak  of 
our  pencils  on  the  slates.     Then  Soeur  Amelie 


HECTOR.  109 

went  into  the  kitchen,  and  returning  almost 
immediately  with  some  vinegar  in  a  cup,  she  tore 
her  own  handkerchief  in  half,  and  after  soaking 
the  two  strips  in  vinegar  she  bound  our  hands 
for  us,  so  deftly  and  comfortably,  that  in  a  few 
minutes  the  pain  was  almost  gone. 

She  did  not  say  a  word  to  us,  and  except  for 
the  "  thank  you  "  we  each  uttered  in  return  for 
the  binding  of  our  hands,  no  one  spoke  till  the 
lessons  were  all  learned  and  the  hour  of  repeti- 
tion came. 

"Well!"  said  Grand'mere,  as  she  passed 
through  the  dining-room  just  before  Soeur  Am6- 
lie  went.     "  Is  the  work  done  .-' " 

"  Oh,  yes,  madame.  Everything  is  finished. 
They  have  been  very  good,  and  I  am  sure  they 
regret  now  that  they  were  naughty." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  Grand'mere  said.  And 
without  waiting  for  any  assurance  from  us  to 
that  effect,  she  went  on  into  the  kitchen  where 
we  heard  her  saying  to  Madelon  : 

"  You  can  lay  the  places  as  usual.  Every 
one  has  gained  his  dinner." 

"  I  had  a  great  deal  rather  not  have  any  din- 
ner." Hector  said,  in  a  low  voice  to  me,  as 
having  put  our  books  away  wc  went  and  stood 
aimlessly  in  the  porch,  where  a  row  of  pigeons 
sat  cooing  on  the  lintel. 


no  HECTOR. 

"  Why  not  ?  "    I  asked. 

"  Because  it  seems  as  if  I  had  worked  to  get 
dinner,  and  I  didn't  care  one  scrap  for  that." 

"  But  there's  no  shame  in  working  for  your 
dinner,  is  there  ?  " 

"  There's  no  shame  for  a  laborer.  Gentlemen 
are  different." 

"  And  what  difference  do  you  find,  my  little 
gentleman  .'' "  asked  Grand'm^re's  voice  sarcas- 
tic behind  us. 

Hector  flushed  deeply  at  being  overheard,  and 
instead  of  answering  looked  away  from  Grand'- 
mere  out  over  the  vineyards. 

"  Voyons,  explain  yourself ;  show  us  the  rea- 
ron  why  the  gentleman  should  not  work  for  his 
dinner." 

I  waited  rather  anxiously  for  Hector's  answer, 
for  Grand'mere  had  always  taught  me  that  it 
was  silly  pride  to  suppose  there  was  any  great 
difference  between  gentlemen  and  good  laborers, 
and  I  was  disappointed  that  Hector  should  have 
one  petty  thought.  He  seemed  to  have  some 
little  difficulty  in  explaining  himself.  He  con- 
tinued to  gaze  for  a  moment  over  the  fields,  and 
then  he  said,  with  an  evident  effort,  but  quite 
clearly  and  steadily — 

"  Gentlemen    ought   to   work   for    somethino^ 


HECTOR.  Ill 

better  than  dinner.  There  is  no  shame  for  a 
poor  man,  because  if  he  didn't  gain  food  he'd 
have  to  die.  Gentlemen  have  everything  they 
need,  and  they  ought  not  to  work  for  themselves 
at  all.  They  ought  to  work  for  other  people. 
It  doesn't  matter  a  bit  to  be  hungry  once  in  a 
way.  I  have  tried  going  without  my  dinner  and 
tea  justjto  see." 

"  So,"  said  Grand'mere,  and  there  was  no 
sarcasm  in  her  voice  now,  "your  idea  of  the 
difference  between  a  gentleman  and  a  plebeian 
is  that  the  gentleman  works  for  others,  and  the 
plebeian  for  himself.  Well,  keep  that  idea,  it 
will  do  you  no  harm  if  you  act  up  to  it.  But," 
and  the  sharp  look  came  into  her  eyes  again, 
"  just  tell  me  this.  If  you  didn't  do  your  lessons 
for  the  sake  of  dinner,  how  does  it  happen  that 
they  have  been  all  done  since  you  understood 
that  without  lessons  there  was  no  dinner  .-* " 

"  It  was  not  because  of  dinner.  It  was 
because  I  hate  for  her,"  and  he  nodded  his  head 
in  the  direction  of  Soeur  Amdie's  departure, 
"to  tell  you  that  I  am  idle.  I  am  not  idle." 
There  was  a  passionate  note  of  disclaimer  in  his 
voice  which  seemed  to  please  Grand'mere,  ior 
she  smiled  and  nodded  her  head  as  she  replied — 

"  We  shall  see  that." 


112  HECTOR. 

Then  she  left  us  to  go  and  see  after  the  labor- 
ers, and  Hector  and  I,  being  after  all  exceedingly 
hungry,  were  attracted  by  the  good  smell  of  cab- 
bage-soup to  the  kitchen,  where,  forgetting  our 
troubles,  we  peeped  into  the  saucepans  and 
helped  and  hindered  Madelon,  till  the  welcome 
hour  of  noon  brought  Grand'mere  in  again,  and 
dinner. 

An  hour  later,  with  the  "  Aviceptologie " 
safely  stowed  in  Hector's  pocket  and  my  knit- 
ting in  my  hand,  we  started  to  fulfil  our  appoint- 
ment with  Esquebesse.  We  had  not  far  to  go 
to  reach  his  cottage,  only  about  a  kilometre  up 
and  down  through  the  woods,  and  then  along  a 
bit  of  an  old  by-road  bordered,  as  our  lane  was, 
with  flowers.  I  remember  well  how  it  looked 
that  day  with  the  row  of  dark-green  box-bushes, 
which  separated  it  on  one  side  from  the  wood, 
glittering  in  the  sunlight  behind  the  gorse  and 
white  thorn,  and  luxuriant  patches  of  swift- 
growing  periwinkle  covering  the  hedgerow  grass 
and  opening  their  blue  blossoms  boldly  in  the 
dust  of  the  road.  The  wild  strawberries  were 
still  in  flower  all  along  the  ditch,  and  violets  and 
cuckoo  and  bright  yellow  celandines  seemed  to 
form  a  little  court  around  the  more  stately  impe- 
rial crowns.       Hector  had  never  seen  so  many 


HECTOB.  113 

wild  flowers  all  together.  He  said  it  reminded 
him  of  some  words  that  he  had  read  —  "The 
wilderness  and  the  solitary  plain  shall  be  glad 
for  them,  and  the  desert  shall  rejoice  and  blos- 
som as  the  rose."  I  asked  him  who  wrote  those 
words,  and  he  told  me  one  of  the  Prophets,  he 
didn't  remem.ber  which.  Since  then  I  have 
always  liked  to  picture  the  Prophets  walking  in 
woods  like  ours,  and  thinking  of  God. 

We  did  not  hurry,  but  zigzagged  from  side  to 
side  of  the  road,  peeping  into  the  box-bushes 
for  birds'-nests,  looking  under  the  strawberry- 
leaves  to.  see  if  the  fruit  were  forming — poking, 
peering,  smelling,  admiring  everywhere.  We 
neither  of  us  had  hands  to  spare,  for  Hector 
wanted  every  minute  to  use  his,  and  I  from  time 
to  time  remembered  my  knitting ;  so  whatever 
flowers  Hector  picked  he  stuck,  stalk  downward, 
into  my  big  pinafore  pocket ;  and  as  I  took  care 
in~my  scrambling,  not  to  hurt  them,  he  told  me 
before  we  reached  the  cottage  that  I  made  a 
most  capital  little  donkey.  I  was  so  pleased 
that  I  think  at  the  moment  I  would  have  asked 
nothing  better  of  life  than  to  be  his  little  donkey 
for  ever. 

Esquebesse's  cottage  stood  at  the  end  of  this 
bit  of  road,  back  under  the  shade  of  the  wood. 
8 


114  HECTOB. 

He  and  his  goat  and  his  two  dogs  lived  there 
alone,  but  they  had  a  very  comfortable  little 
home.  When  people  asked  Esquebesse  why  he 
did  not  marry,  he  always  said  that  the  situation 
of  his  house  was  too  lonely  he  could  not  ask  any 
woman  to  remain  there  by  herself,  while  he 
went  on  his  distant  rounds  ;  but  however  that 
might  be,  his  establishment  seemed  quite  com- 
plete without  a  wife.  On  either  side  of  the 
cottage  he  cultivated  a  bit  of  garden  ground, 
and  his  vegetables  were  famous  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. The  vine  which  covered  the  front  of  his 
house,  produced  grapes  which  Grand'mere  her- 
self was  glad  to  buy  when  we  had  visitors  at 
Salaret.  The  three  beehives  which  stood  on  a 
board  beneath  his  kitchen -window  gave  more 
honey  every  year  than  he  could  eat ;  his  fowls 
were  the  envy  of  surrounding  farmers'  wives. 
And  within  the  house  everything  was  scrupu- 
lously neat  and  clean. 

"  My  poor  mother  left  all  in  order,"  Esque- 
besse used  to  say,  and  since  then  there  has  been 
no  one  to  make  disorder.  Twice  a  year  his  sis- 
ter used  to  come  for  a  week  from  Montfort  to  do 
his  wash,  and  to  inspect  his  linen  ;  but  that  was 
all  the  help  he  ever  had. 

To-day,  as  we  came  down  the  road,  we  could 


HECTOR.  115 

see  through  the  open  doorway  the  interior  of 
the  big  low  room,  which  served  him  for  kitchen 
and  sitting-room.  It  looked  dark  and  quiet  to 
eyes  dazzled  with  the  sunshine  and  flowers  of 
the  open  road.  A  small  fire  smouldered  in  the 
wide  chimney,  and  the  smoke  curled  slowly  up 
on  either  side  of  the  great  chain  and  hook  on 
which  no  caldron  was  hanging.  The  caldron  it- 
self stood  to  one  side  on  the  hearth,  with  the 
brown  water  pitcher  near  it.  Just  opposite  the 
door  was  the  old  carved  cupboard,  where  family 
linen  had  been  stored  for  generations,  and  on  a 
low  oak  table  against  the  wall  some  cabbages 
were  piled,  with  half  a  pumpkin  and  two  or  three 
onions.  Nets  and  other  utensils  for  bird-catch- 
ing hung  from  the  smoke -blackened  rafters 
above,  interspersed  with  rabbit-skins  and  bunches 
of  garlic.  We  did  not  see  any  one  in  the  room, 
but  as  the  dogs  were  lying  out  in  the  sun  before 
the  cottage  door,  we  knew  that  Esquebesse  was 
not  far  off,  and  we  advanced,  intending  to  enter 
and  wait.  The  dogs  did  not  approve  of  this 
intention,  and  no  sooner  did  we  manifest  it  than 
they  started  up  and  came  towards  us,  barking 
with  such  a  distinctly  inhospitable  accent,  that 
if.  I  had  not  been  holding  Hector's  hand  I  should 
certainly    have    turned    round    and    run    away. 


Ii6  HECTOR. 

They  were  big  hunting  dogs,  known  to  be  fierce ; 
and  even  Hector,  I  think,  was  a  little  frightened 
as  one  of  them  suddenly  rushed  at  us,  for  he  put 
himself  in  front  of  me  while  he  held  my  hand 
tight  and  said,   "  Stand  quite  still." 

At  that  moment,  however,  a  voice  from  within 
called — 

"  Here,  Bruno  ;  lie  down,  Loup  Garou  ; "  and 
as  Bruno  paused  in  his  advance,  Dr.  Charles  of 
Portalouve  appeared  upon  the  threshold  of  the 
kitchen, 

"  These  dogs  are  too  zealous  in  the  discharge 
of  their  duty,"  he  said  as  he  advanced  to  m^eet 
us.  "  Esquebesse  went  up  to  M.  le  Comte  half 
an  hour  ago  and  left  them  to  guard  the  house 
and  me ;  but  he  told  me  he  was  expecting  you, 
and  during  all  the  time  that  they  have  lived 
together  the  dogs  should  have  become  better 
acquainted  with  their  master's  hospitable  na- 
ture." 

He  took  my  hand  as  he  spoke  and  led  me  past 
the  danger  which  had  frightened  me,  into  the 
shelter  of  the  house.  Hector,  however,  instead 
of  following  us  remained  on  the  threshold, 
standing  quietly  between  the  dogs. 

Dr.  Chctiics  had  only  lately  come  back  then 
from    Bordeaux,  to  be  the  assistant  of  our  old 


HECTOR.  117 

doctor,  Du  Verger,  at  Cassagne.  His  mother, 
Madame  de  la  Meillierie,  is  a  cousin  of  Grand'- 
mere's,  but  as  she  has  always  lived  at  Portalouve, 
which  is  seventeen  kilometres  off,  I  scarcely 
remembered  at  that  time  to  have  ever  seen  her. 
Grand'mere  and  I  did  not  often  move  as  far  as 
seventeen  kilometres.  I  knew  Dr.  Charles,  for 
I  had  seen  him  more  than  once  at  Salaret,  and 
sometimes  I  had  met  him  in  the  lanes  or  woods, 
about  the  farm,  with  his  trousers  rolled  up  and 
the  mud  thick  upon  his  boots  hunting  in  out-of- 
the-way  places  for  specimens  of  stones  and 
flowers.  I  had  heard  the  country  people  speak 
too  of  his  knowledge,  and  his  goodness  to  his 
mother,  so  I  did  not  feel  shy  at  all  when  I  found 
myself  in  the  kitchen  alone  with  him.  It  was 
the  first  time  I  had  ever  seen  him  without  his 
spectacles,  and  as  I  looked  up  to  thank  him  for 
coming  out,  I  saw  how  kind  and  gentle  his  eyes 
were. 

The  remains  of  an  omelette  and  a  loaf  and  a 
bottle  of  wine  on  the  table,  with  Dr.  Charles* 
hat  and  specimen  case  lying  beside  them,  showed 
that  he  had  been  enjoying  the  hospitality  of 
Esquebesse ;  and  when  he  had  answered  my 
few  words  of  thanks  and  stuck  my  bunch  of 
flowers  into  a  pitcher  of  water  that  stood  by  the 
cabbages,  he  began  to  clear  the  table. 


Ii8  HECTOB. 

"  When  hunger  assails  me  in  the  woods  and  I 
find  myself  very  far  from  dinner,"  he  said,  "  I 
always  come  and  beg  an  omelette  from  Esque- 
besse ;  but  it  is  not  just  that  I  should  leave  dis- 
order in  his  kitchen." 

Seeing  what  he  wanted  to  do,  I  took  a  bowl 
from  the  dresser,  and  while  he  went  to  put  the 
remains  of  the  loaf  into  the  bread-pan,  I  washed 
his  plate  and  glass  and  fork. 

"Tiens,  my  child,  you  are  helping  me?"  he 
said  when  he  came  back, 

"You  helped  me,  monsieur,  just  now." 

He  smiled,  and  stood  watching  me  while  I 
polished  the  glass  with  a  dry  cloth  as  Grand'- 
mere  had  taught  me  to  do. 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  said,  "  Esquebesse  gains  in 
the  exchange ;  if  I  had  washed  his  glass  it  is 
probable  that  he  would  have  had  to  wash  it 
again  before  he  used  it." 

Then  he  sat  down  and  opened  his  specimen 
case,  leaving  the  rest  of  the  table  for  me  to 
clear. 


HECTOR.  119 


CHAPTER    IX. 

T  HAD  cleared  the  table,  and  Hector,  having 
finished  his  inspection  of  the  dogs,  had 
come  in  and  was  standing  with  me  watching 
Dr.  Charles'  proceedings  at  a  respectful  distance, 
when  Esquebesse  arrived.  / 

"  Pouf,"  he  said  as  he  took  off  his  hat  and 
wiped  his  face,  "I  have  kept  you  waiting;  but  I 
have  arranged  all  our  little  affairs  satisfactorily. 
I  passed  round  by  Salaret,  and  Madame  Loustan- 
off  trusts  the  children  to  us.  Now  we  have 
nothing  else  to  do  but  to  start." 

"  Where  are  we  going  .-*  "  asked  Hector. 

"  Where  are  we  going  .''  Dr.  Charles  has  told 
you  nothing .''  We  are  going  the  whole  way  tc 
Portalouve.  Dr.  Charles  goes  to  spend  Sunday 
with  his  mother,  and  he  will  drive  us  there  in 
his  little  carriage.  Baptiste,  the  miller,  went 
yesterday  evening  to  Montfort,  and  he  will  give 
us  a  lift  back." 

We  children  cared  little  how  we  were  to  get 


r20  HECTOR. 

there  or  how  we  were  to  come  back.  That  we 
were  going  to  Portalouve  was  enough  for  us. 
Had  Esquebesse  suddenly  announced  that  he 
meant  to  take  us  to  Paris,  I  could  hardly  have 
felt  more  excited.  Portalouve,  thirteen  kilo- 
metres on  the  other  side  of  Cassagne,  fully 
halfway  to  Montfort  where  Georges  and  the 
soldiers  were,  seemed  indeed  to  me  a  new 
country.  How  Esquebesse  had  ever  persuaded 
Grand'mere  to  let  us  go  I  could  not  imagine, 
and  I  dared  not  ask  for  fear  any  flaw  might 
appear  in  the  permission  and  hinder  our  de- 
parture even  now. 

Hector  took  our  good  luck  much  more  coolly 
than  I ;  he  seemed  pleased  when  Esquebesse 
first  announced  it,  but  his  interest  had  been 
awakened  by  Dr.  Charles'  specimens ;  and  even 
while  Esquebesse  was  bringing  the  old  carriage 
round  from  the  back  yard  where  the  horse  had 
been  tied,  and  making  such  preparations  as  he 
thought  necessary  before  quitting  the  house, 
Hector  was  listening  intently  to  a  description 
Dr.  Charles  was  giving  him  of  the  inward  and 
outward  growth  of  vegetable  stems.  Esquebesse 
had  no  respect,  apparently,  for  his  love  of 
knowledge.  As  soon  as  he  was  ready  to  lock 
up  the  house  he  told  him  to  run  out  and  shut  up 


HECTOR.  I2K 

the  shutters,  which  Hector  did  with  the  greatest 
goodwill.  Esquebesse  fastened  them  on  the 
inside,  then  we  all  went  out ;  I  saw  the  key 
turned  at  last  in  the  door,  and  in  another  minute 
we  had  fairly  started. 

Dr.  Charles'  carriage  was  a  funny  old  vehicle 
with  a  hood,  intended  to  hold  only  two  people; 
but  Dr.  Charles  and  Esquebesse  made  room  for 
me  between  them,  and  Hector  sat  very  comfort- 
ably on  the  footboard  at  our  feet.  The  old 
yellow  nag  which  Dr.  Du  Verger  had  bought 
from  Grand'mere  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  before, 
was  so  well  accustomed  to  the  road  that  it  went 
almost  of  its  own  accord,  and  there  was  nothing 
to  interfere  with  the  delight  I  had  in  seeing  our 
beautiful  country  and  in  showing  it  to  Hector. 
As  far  as  Cassagne  I  knew  it  myself,  after  that 
I  had  to  leave  all  his  questions  to  be  answered 
by  Dr.  Charles  and  Esquebesse ;  but  I  was  well 
content  to  listen,  for  he  asked  questions  that  I 
should  never  have  thought  of  asking,  and  in 
answering  them  Dr.  Charles  and  Esquebesse 
talked  together,  and  told  us  so  much  that  was 
interesting,  that  the  world  began  to  seem  to  me 
much  bigger  than  it  had  ever  seemed  before.  A 
long  way  past  Cassagne  we  passed  a  vineyard 
where  a  number  of  men  were  digging.     Esque- 


HECTOR. 


besse  told  us  it  belonged  to  M.  le  Comte,  and  he 
stopped  the  carriage  that  we  might  see  what 
they  were  doing.  An  overseer  was  directing 
them,  and  after  speaking  a  few  words  to  Dr. 
Charles,  he  took  my  hand  and  led  me  to  a  part 
of  the  vineyard  where  the  ground  was  thrown 
up  round  a  large  square  ditch.  We  mounted  on 
the  sides  of  the  ditch,  and  looking  down  we  saw 
to  my  surprise,  at  about  three  or  four  feet  below 
the  surface  of  the  vineyard,  what  looked  to  me 
like  a  beautiful  painted  pavement.  The  design 
was  of  baskets  of  fruit  and  flowers,  with  game 
and  fish  lying  round ;  the  workmen  had  just 
washed  it,  and  the  wet  colors  glowed  in  the  sun 
almost  like  precious  stones. 

"What  is  it.?"  I  asked.  "Why  does  M.  le 
Comte  have  his  vineyard  paved  .''  " 

The  overseer  smiled,  and  Dr.  Charles  ex- 
plained that  this  pavement  which  I  saw  was 
called  a  mosaic,  and  that  it  was  not  M.  le  Comte 
who  had  put  it  in  the  vineyard,  but  probably 
some  Roman  noble  more  than  a  thousand  years 
before.  M.  le  Comte  had  only  found  it,  and  was 
having  it  transported  to  the  floor  of  his  own 
dining-room. 

"  The  Romans  have  lived  here  then } "  said 
Hector,  raising  his  head  and  looking  round  as 


HECTOR.  123 

though  he  expected  still  to  see  their  palaces  on 
the  slopes  of  the  hills. 

"There  is  little  doubt,"  said  the  overseer 
gravely,  "  thaL  they  have  spat  on  this  very 
pavement." 

He  was  mocking  at  the  sudden  light  which 
had  sprung  into  Hector's  face,  but  Esquebesse 
answered  almost  at  the  same  time  with  a  kindly 
smile — 

"  Therefore,  if  we  must  be  heroes  in  order  to 
be  good  Frenchmen,  Frenchmen  should  not 
forget  that  they  have  the  blood  of  heroes  in 
their  veins.     Hein  !  " 

I  wondered  how  Esquebesse  knew  that  Hec- 
tor had  said  men  should  be  heroes  to  be  good 
Frenchmen,  but  Hector  did  not  seem  to  notice 
that. 

"  If  those  mountains  could  speak,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  the  snow-line  of  the  Pyrenees,  which 
seemed  in  the  clear  atmosphere  of  the  spring 
afternoon  to  lie  quite  close  to  us,  "  how  awfully 
interesting  it  would  be  to  ask  them  questions. 
I  do  so  long  often  to  ask  questions  of  all  the  old 
things,  who  were  there  before  we  were  born." 

"  It  is  a  question  of  learning  their  language," 
said  Dr.  Charles  thoughtfully.  And  as  they 
stood  so  looking  at  the  mountains,  I  heard  one 
of  the  workmen  say  to  another — 


124  HECTOB. 


"Who  is  the  little  chap?" 

"  It's  the  English  boy,  from  Loustanoff's." 

An  incredulous  laugh  was  the  only  answer. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at  ?     It  is  so." 

"Not  he.     He's  not  English." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  He's  too  handsome." 

Two  or  three  of  them  drew  4:ogether,  and 
looked  at  him  critically  as  he  stood  on  the 
edge  of  the  ditch  talking  to  Esquebesse  and 
Dr.  Charles. 

"He  is  solidly  built,"  said  one;  "  he  will  go 
far." 

And  I,  who  had  never  thought  before  whether 
he  was  handsome  or  ugly,  felt  my  heart  beat 
faster  with  pride  in  him  as  I  looked.  Once  in 
the  carriage  again,  Dr.  Charles  began  to  tell  us 
about  the  old  Romans,  and  the  drive  through 
the  flowering  country  from  the  mosaics  to  Porta- 
louve  seemed  to  pass  almost  like  a  dream.  But 
it  was  one  of  those  dreams  of  which  one  never 
loses  the  recollection.  I  see  still,  as  though  it 
had  been  but  yesterday,  the  purple  of  the 
bursting  woods  which  clothed  the  hills,  the 
orchards  everywhere  in  blossom,  the  yellow 
mus'ard-fields,  the  glaring  crimson  sainfoin,  the 
bright  tender  green  of  the  flax-fields,  the  rich 


EECTOR.  125 

brown  earth  where  the  lately  planted  maize  was 
germinating.  Over  all,  the  blue  sky,  with  clouds 
driving  high  up  before  the  wind,  and  in  the 
distance  the  sparkling  peaks  of  the  Pyrenees 
girdling  us  in.  It  was  Saturday,  so  we  were  not 
alone  upon  the  road.  A  bright  stream  of  buyers 
and  sellers  flocked  to  and  from  the  Saturday 
markets;  vehicles  of  all  sorts  passed  us  fre- 
quently, and  Dr.  Charles  and  Esquebesse,  who 
knew  most  of  the  people  for  many  miles  round, 
told  us  to  whom  they  belonged  and  where  they 
were  going,  and  exchanged  many  a  greeting  with 
the  passers-by.  They  say  it  is  very  grand  to 
drive  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and  that  the 
carriages  there  are  finer  than  I  have  any  idea  of. 
All  the  same,  I  do  not  believe  that  any  lady  in 
Paris  ever  had  a  happier  drive  in  the  Bois  than 
I  had  that  day  between  Salaret  and  Portalouve. 
Esquebesse  stopped  at  an  inn  where  the  road 
branched  off  to  Montfort,  and  told  them  to  bid 
the  miller  wait  for  us  when  he  came  back  from 
Montfort  in  the  evening ;  and  after  that,  another 
quarter  of  an  hour  of  driving  brought  us  to 
Dr.  Charles'  home. 

I  was  rather  cramped  with  sitting  so  long, 
and  I  remember  that  when  the  carriage  stopped 
at  the  yard  gate  Dr.  Charles  lifted  me  out  and 


126  BECTOB. 

carried  me  himself  across  the  slush  of  the  farm- 
yard to  the  kitchen-door,  while  Hector  followed 
between  the  very  muzzles  of  two  big  St.  Ber- 
nards. The  barking  of  the  dogs  brought  out 
Madame  de  la  Meillerie,  and  she  was  so  de- 
lighted to  see  her  son  that  she  kissed  me  and 
Hector  in  the  warmth  of  her  heart  almost  as 
affectionately  as  she  kissed  Dr.  Charles.  I  see 
her  still  as  she  stood  in  the  doorway  in  her 
ample  black  dress  and  lilac  sun-bonnet,  her 
broad  kind  face  beaming  with  pleasure. 

Had  she  something  nice  to  give  the  children 
for  gouter?  Of  course  she  had.  Some  little 
cakes  were  baking  at  this  minute  in  the  oven 
for  to-morrow's  dessert,  and  they  should  taste 
the  Spanish  melon  jam  of  which  she  had  spoken 
last  New  Year  to  Madame  Loustanoff.  As  for 
Esquebesse,  it  was  not  now  that  she  had  to  tell 
him  he  was  always  welcome  at  Portalouve ;  a 
little  glass  of  her  old  Malaga  would  do  him  no 
harm,  she  fancied,  after  his  long  drive.  And 
then  there  was  a  rattling  of  keys  and  a  bustling 
about,  and  hasty  direction  to  Jeanne  and  Mar- 
guerite ;  and  while  we  stood  and  stretched 
ourselves  before  the  kitchen  fire  the  dining-room 
table  was  set  out  with  cakes  and  jam  and  milk 
and  a  pat6  de  foie  gras,  and  a  dusty  bottle  of  old 
Malaga  for  Esquebesse. 


HECTOR.  127 

"  Allons,  Chariot,  eat  a  bit  vourself ;  I'll  be 
bound  your  dinner  was  a  light  one  to-day." 

"  You  are  making  cruel  reproaches  to  Esque- 
besse,  mother.     It  was  he  who  furnished  it." 

"  Nothing  but  an  omelette,  madame,"  said 
Esquebesse. 

"  Ah,  I  know  that  everything  is  good  in 
Esquebesse's  house,  but  an  omelette  all  the 
same  soon  leaves  place  for  other  things.  Sit 
down,  sit  down  ;  "  and  she  cut  into  the  pate  with 
hospitable  vigor. 

"I  ask  no  better,"  said  Dr.  Charles,  "your 
pates,  my  mother,  are  to  be  refused  by  no  rea- 
sonable man."  And  in  another  moment  we 
were  all  seated  round  the  table  eating  as  though 
we  also  had  dined  upon  Dr.  Charles'  omelette. 
Madame  de  la  Meillerie  waited  upon  us,  and 
took  pleasure  in  piling  up  our  plates  ;  but  she 
herself  took  nothing  except  a  little  half-glass  of 
Malaga  to  please  her  son. 

The  farm  at  Portalouve  was  as  large  as  Sal- 
aret,  and  Madame  de  la  Meillerie  was  very  busy 
that  afternoon.  So  when  after  goliter  Esque 
besse  went  away  to  attend  to  the  business  which 
had  brought  him  to  that  part  of  the  country, 
Dr.  Charles  followed  his  mother  into  the  yard  to 
give  her  the  benefit  of  his  advice  in  some  bar- 


128  HECTOR. 

gains  she  had  to  make  that  afternoon,  and  Hec- 
tor and  I  were  free  to  ramble  where  we  pleased. 
Our  rambles  took  us  at  first  no  further  than  the 
kitchen.  The  servant  Jeanne,  who  was  a  girl 
from  our  side  of  Cassagne,  was  only  too  glad  of 
a  chance  of  hearing  news  from  her  village,  and 
while  Hector  amused  himself  with  sauntering 
about  looking  at  everything,  she  made  me  pass 
all  our  neighbors  and  their  affairs  in  review.  A 
very  respectable  woman,  who  wore  her  hair 
uncovered  like  a  lady,  was  sitting  at  work  in  one 
corner  of  the  kitchen.  She  seemed  to  listen 
with  interest  to  what  we  were  saying,  and 
presently,  when  Jeanne's  questions  became  a 
little  slack,  she  asked  in  a  pleasant,  quiet 
voice — 

"  Do  you  know  in  your  country,  mademoiselle, 
a  girl  called  Irma  Lagrace.''" 

The  name  at  once  attracted  Hector's  attention. 

"Is  that  our  Irma.''"  he  asked,  coming  up  to 
my  side  as  he  spoke. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  answering  both  him  and  the 
workwoman.  "  We  know  her  very  well,  madame. 
Do  you  wish  for  news  of  her  .■*  " 

"  I  do  not  know  her  myself ;  but  I  have  heard 
her  spoken  of  often.  They  say  she  is  very 
pretty." 


HECTOB.  129 


"  She  is  the  prettiest  person  I  know,"  Hectoi 
said  with  a  decision  which  astonished  me. 

"  I  see  nothing  so  very  remarkable  in  her," 
said  Jeanne  with  a  toss  of  the  head.  "  People 
have  got  it  into  their  heads  that  she  is  very 
pretty,  and  the  men  all  run  after  her,  because 
men  are  like  sheep ;  what  one  does  the  others 
must  do.  But  all  that  has  no  common-sense  in 
it.  She  is  no  better  than  the  other  girls  of  the 
village.  And  then  between  nine  of  them,  I  ask 
you  what  sort  of  a  dot  she  is  likely  to  have  .■' " 

"  The  dot  counts  for  little  if  the  suitor  is  rich. 
They  say  she  is  pretty  enough  to  be  married  for 
her  beauty." 

"  Bah  !  it  is  only  that  old  idiot  of  a  miller  who 
says  so,  and  what  does  he  know  about  beauty } 
It  is  not  in  his  family,  at  all  events,  that  he 
would  have  learnt  to  admire  it." 

"  My  cousin  Georges  has  told  me  the  same, 
and  he  at  all  events  has  eyes." 

"Are  you  Georges'  cousin  Marie,  that  he  goes 
to  see  at  Montfort .? "  asked  Hector,  his  eyes 
lighting  with  sudden  interest. 

"Yes,"  said  the  workwoman  with  a  smile,  "I 
am  Marie  Monthez,  cousin  of  young  Georges  of 
St.  Loubouet.  You  have  heard  him  speak  of 
me  ? " 

9 


130  BECTOB. 


I  was  dreadfully  afraid  for  a  moment  that 
Hector  would  say  more  than  he  ought,  but  I 
might  have  spared  my  anxiety;  he  only  replied 
in  an  absent,  dreamy  voice — 

"  Yes,  I  heard  him  say  he  went  to  see  you 
every  Sunday." 

"And  since  you  think  Irma  so  pretty,  tell  me 
what  she  is  like,"  Marie  Monthez  pursued. 
"  Georges  does  not  know  how  to  describe.  Tell 
me  what  she  looked  like  the  last  time  you  saw 
her." 

The  comers  of  Hector's  mouth  curled  up  into 
laughter;  the  remembrance  of  the  last  time  he 
had  seen  Irma  seemed  to  tickle  his  fancy,  but 
he  said  he  did  not  know  how  to  describe  in 
French. 

"Allons!  that  is  foolish,"  said  Marie,  "you 
speak  French  like  ourselves.  Come  now,  tell 
me  what  she  is  like.     You,  then,  mademoiselle." 

I  described  a.s  well  as  I  could  Irma's  bright 
curly  hair,  her  clear  complexion,  her  white 
teeth,  her  soft  dark  eyes. 

"And  then  her  lips,"  said  Hector;  "she 
really  has  lips,  as  they  say  in  story-books,  the 
color  of  cherries,  and  nice  little  feet,  with  good 
sensible  shoes  that  she  can  walk  in,  and  hands 
burnt  a  pretty  brown   color  in  the  sun.     And 


HECTOR.  131 

sometimes  when  she  laughs,  she  puts  her  head 
on  one  side  just  like  a  blackbird,  doesn't  she, 
Zelie  ?  The  last  time  we  saw  her,"  here  his 
mouth  began  to  curl  merrily  again,  "  was  yester- 
day in  the  wood,  near  our  house,  and  the  sun 
was  shining  so  that  little  shadows  of  the  tree- 
branches  fell  all  over  her  as  she  walked  along 
with " 

"  With  whom  ? "  said  a  new  voice  suddenly 
and  angrily  behind  us  ;  and  we  turned  round  to 
see  no  less  a  personage  than  M.  Baptiste,  the 
miller  himself,  who  had  come  in  unobserved, 
and  had  heard  perhaps  everything  we  had  been 
saying. 

"Well.     She  was  walking  along  with "  he 

repeated. 

Hector  who  had  reddened  nervously  at  the 
sudden  interruption,  recovered  from  the  start 
and  answered  quietly — 

"  With  her  distaff.  She  was  spinning,  you 
know." 

The  miller  seemed  to  think  he  had  been  rather 
foolish,  for  he  laughed  awkwardly,  and  glanced 
at  Marie  Monthez  as  he  said — 

"  Good,  good.  So  long  as  young  girls  only 
walk  with  their  distaffs,  they  give  proof  of  their 
good  sense,  do  they  not,  Mam'selle  Marie.-'" 


r32  HECTOB. 


"Ah!  M.  Baptiste,  you  know  I  have  always 
told  you  you  are  too  severe  upon  young  people." 
They  spoke  to  each  other  like  old  friends,  which 
rather  astonished  Hector  and  me,  for  it  had 
never  occurred  to  us  that  the  miller  would  also 
know  Georges'  cousin.  His  next  words  showed 
that  he  not  only  knew  her,  but  knew  her  well. 

Jeanne  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  kitchen, 
helping  Marguerite  to  lift  a  heavy  caldron  from 
the  fire,  and  as  Hector  and  I  stood  looking  out 
of  the  window,  I  suppose  the  miller  considered 
himself  as  good  as  alone  with  Marie  Monthez. 

"  Mademoiselle  Marie,"  he  said,  sitting  down 
at  the  opposite  side  of  her  work-table,  and  wip- 
ing his  face  slowly  with  a  large  pocket-handker- 
chief, "  I  come  from  seeing  your  parents,  and  it 
is  because  they  told  me  you  were  here  that  I 
have  come  here  to-day." 

"  You  know,  M.  Baptiste,  that  where  I  am  you 
are  always  welcome,"  Marie's  quiet  voice  replied. 

"  For  I  have  a  question  to  ask  you.  I  would 
like  to  know  if  it  is  true  what  they  say,  that  you 
do  not  intend  to  marry.?" 

I  glanced  over  my  shoulder.  Marie  had 
dropped  her  work  to  listen  to  him.  Now  she 
took  it  up  and  began  to  stitch  swiftly  as  she 
replied — 


HECTOB.  133 


"  I  have  not  said  that." 

"It  would  be  a  pity,"  he  went  on  slowly, 
"for  from  Salaret  to  Montfort  there  is  not  a 
housekeeper  to  compare  with  you.  Every  one 
knows  how  you  have  always  behaved  towards 
your  parents,  and  when  one  behaves  well  towards 
one's  parents  that  proves  a  good  heart,  which 
will  lead  you  to  behave  well  in  other  circum 
stances  of  life." 

"It  is  very  simple;* for  housekeeping,  my 
mother  brought  me  up  in  the  midst  of  order  ; 
and  in  what  concerns  my  behavior,  I  have  always 
loved  my  parents.     I  have  no  merit  in  all  that." 

"  But  yes — but  yes,  you  have  a  rare  merit. 
At  Montfort  every  one  speaks  of  your  goodness, 
the  wickedest  tongue  in  the  town  finds  nothing 
to  say  against  you.  And  then  you  are  rich ;  it 
is  a  pity  for  such  a  wedding  portion  as  yours  to 
lie  idle." 

"  For  that,  yes,  I  am  rich  enough  ;  but  I  have 
no  desire  to  be  married  for  my  portion." 

"  Enfin,  if  there  was  somebody  who  liked  you 
for  yourself,  that  you  had  known  from  your 
childhood  and  who  was  not  bad,  you  would  not 
say  No." 

The  miller  seemed  very  much  in  earnest.  I 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  look    round 


134  EECTOB. 


again.  Marie  had  dropped  her  work,  and  was 
looking  at  him  with  a  bright  color  in  her  cheeks 
which  made  her  seem  ever  so  much  younger 
than  we  had  thought  her  at  first. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  this,  M.  Baptiste  .-•  "  she 
said. 

"  Because  I  would  wish  to  know.  Your  par- 
ents told  me  it  was  no  use,  that  you  would  not 
hear  of  marriage ;  and  I  said  to  them,  let  me 
try  :  we  have  known  each  other  since  we  were 
children,  perhaps  I  shall  have  some  influence." 

"  If  he  suited  me,  I  would  say  Yes." 

"I  may  tell  this  to  your  parents.''"  The 
miller  rose  up  joyously  as  he  spoke,  and  held 
out  his  hand  to  her. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and  Marie's 
voice,  trembling  a  little,  said — 

"  What  do  you  mean,  M.  Baptiste  } " 

Then  Madame  de  la  Meillerie  and  Dr.  Charles 
came  in  fiom  the  yard,  and  while  they  were 
welcoming  Baptiste  we  turned  round  to  see 
Marie  taking  up  her  work  again,  with  a  face  still 
aglow  and  her  eyes  bright  almost  like  Irma's. 

After  that.  Hector  and  I  went  out ;  and  while 
the  afternoon  light  lasted  we  played  about  in  the 
yard  and  the  granaries  and  the  orchard,  as 
happy    as    kings,    till    between    six    and    seven 


HECTOR.  135 


o'clock.  As  we  were  standing  in  the  cow-shed 
watching  the  milking,  we  heard  Madame  de  la 
Meillerie  call  "  children ! "  from  the  kitchen- 
door,  and  we  went  in  to  find  that  it  was  time  to 
start  home  again.  The  miller's  spring-cart  was 
at  the  door,  and  Marguerite,  under  Madame  de 
la  Meillerie's  direction,  was  putting  armfuls  of 
straw  into  the  back  of  it  for  Hector  and  me  to 
sit  upon.  "  The  children  will  be  warmer  there," 
she  said,  "than  on  the  seat,  and  they  will  be  less 
in  your  way.  You  will  find  it  chilly,  va,  before 
you  get  home.  Tiens,  Charles,  fetch  the  Malaga ; 
they  will  each  take  a  little  glass  before  they 
start." 

My  remembrance  of  the  drive  home  is  much 
more  confused  than  my  remembrance  of  the 
afternoon  drive  out.  Whether  it  was  the  Malaga, 
or  the  monotonous  movement,  or  the  exposure 
to  the  air,  or  the  exceeding  comfort  of  my  posi- 
tion in  the  straw,  I  do  not  know,  but  I  continued 
all  along  the  road  to  fall  asleep,  and  to  wake  up 
at  intervals  to  see  nothing  but  the  clear  dark  sky 
above,  and  the  outlines  of  Esquebesse's  tall 
figure,  and  the  miller's  heavy  round  back,  black 
and  solid,  in  front  of  us,  against  the  clearer  dark- 
ness of  the  atmosphere.  After  a  while  the  stars 
came  out,  and    the    miller   lighted    one  of    the 


t3^  HECTOR. 

lanterns  of  the  cart.  Each  time  I  woke  the  air 
seemed  to  me  a  little  fresher.  Each  time  I  woke 
I  saw  Hector  sitting  up  in  the  opposite  corner 
of  the  cart  with  a  face  that  looked  like  white 
marble  in  the  starlight,  and  dark  eyes  wide 
open,  but  I  was  covered  warmly  with  a  sack ; 
the  freshness  of  the  air  only  made  me  sleep  the 
more  soundly,  and  I  took  heed  of  nothing,  till, 
when  we  must  have  already  long  passed  Cassagne 
on  our  homeward  way,  I  was  wakened  by  Hector 
nudging  me  persistently,  I  could  not  at  first 
think  what  he  wanted,  but  I  soon  heard  that 
Esquebesse  and  the  miller  were  talking  together 
on  their  elevated  seat,  and  the  night  wind  was 
blowing  their  words  back  to  us, 

"  Yes,"  the  miller  was  saying,  "  I  see  that  after 
a  certain  age  marriage  becomes  a  necessity. 
While  one  is  young  all  goes  well ;  a  man  likes 
his  liberty,  but  later  on  he  begins  to  feel  the 
need  of  some  one  who  is  entirely  devoted  to 
him ;  some  one  whom  he  will  find  always  there 
when  he  comes  in  ;  some  one  who  will  take  care 
of  him  when  he  is  ill ;  who  will  remember  the 
dishes  that  he  likes ;  who  will  look  after  his 
house ;  who  will  put  his  interests  before  every- 
thing. You  will  say  what  you  like,  Esquebesse, 
You  are  alone,  and  you  have  only  yourself  to 


HECTOB.  137 


think  of,  so  all  goes  well  ;  but  a  house  needs  a 
woman  at  the  head  of  it.  I,  for  instance  :  for  a 
year  now  my  old  Marie  Anna  has  been  telling 
me  that  her  son  wants  her  to  go  and  live  with 
him  at  Cassagne,  and  she  leads  me  in  conse- 
quence the  life  of  a  dog.  I,  such  as  you  see 
me,  I  dare  not  tell  her  to  put  four  eggs  in  my 
omelette  on  Friday,  if  she  chooses  to  put  but 
three.  I  come  in  hungry,  she  takes  pleasure  in 
making  me  wait  half-an-hour  for  my  dinner; 
and  if  I  dare  to  address  a  reproach  to  her,  pouf ! 
it  is  her  son  who  jumps  down  my  throat.  If  I 
am  not  satisfied,  she  asks  nothing  better  than  to 
go  and  live  with  her  own  people." 

Esquebesse  laughed — 

"  There  is  one  with  whom  I  would  soon  settle 
my  account." 

"You  laugh.  It  is  easy  for  you.  But  I — I 
ask  you  a  little  what  would  become  of  me  if  she 
went.  She  has  been  there  since  the  death  of 
my  mother.  She  knows  all  that  is  in  the  house 
better  than  I  know  it  myself,  and,  if  she  goes,  I 
become  at  once  a  prey  to  all  the  old  vultures 
who  choose  to  make  an  entrance  into  my  house 
for  the  purpose  of  wasting  my  substance.  Could 
I  look  after  them  when  I  have  my  mill  to  attend 
lo .''     Could  I  carry  about  with  me  the  key  of  the 


138  HECTOB. 

linen  cupboard  and  the  provisions  ?  Do  I  know 
— I,  how  many  fine  shirts  I  have,  which  came  to 
me  from  my  father  and  my  grandfather  ?  How 
many  sheets  my  mother  span  since  her  mar- 
riage— how  many  she  brought  in  her  trousseau — 
how  many  she  found  here  when  she  came  ? 
Marie  Anna  knows  all  that.  She  could  tell  you 
the  year  in  which  every  sheet  and  tablecloth  was 
spun.  She  keeps  all  that  in  repair;  she  arranges 
the  wash.  I  know  nothing  of  it ;  and  if  she 
goes,  a  new  one  comes  without  interest  in  the 
house,  all  will  be  under  her  care,  and  it  is  not 
much  that  I  would  give  for  the  honesty  of  those 
who  have  no  interest  to  serve  you.  All  —  all 
will  go  to  rack  and  ruin.  The  furniture,  which 
Marie  Anna  has  rubbed  from  her  youth  upwards, 
do  you  suppose  another  will  care  to  keep  it 
bright  ?  All  my  habits,  all  my  tastes,  which 
Marie  Anna  knows  as  I  know  them  myself,  how 
shall  I  begin  to  teach  them  to  another .-'  I  shall 
be  wretched." 

"  It  is  as  clear  as  daylight,"  said  Esquebesse. 
"  You  must  give  up  your  liberty,  and  marry  a 
reasonable  person,  who  will  be  able  to  supply 
Marie  Anna's  place  ;  only  you  must  persuade 
Marie  Anna  to  stay  with  you  for  one  year  after 
your  marriage  in  order  to  show  your  wife  the 
ways  of  the  house." 


I 


HECTOR.  139 

"To  show  the  ways  of  the  house  to  my  wife," 
said  Baptiste,  laughing,  as  though  the  sound  of 
the  words  pleased  him  ;  "that  is  exactly  what  I 
counted  upon  doing.  Marie  Anna  shall  stay  for 
a  year.  At  the  end  of  that  time  my  wife  will 
know  all,  and  I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  but  to 
grow  old  in  comfort,  with  my  little  ones  about 
my  knees.  Ha  !  ha  !  Esquebesse,  why  do  you 
not  follow  my  example  .''  " 

"Why.''"  said  Esquebesse,  "because  I  have 
not  so  much  wealth  to  take  care  of,  nor  so  many 
tastes  to  be  satisfied,  nor  the  annoyance  of 
losing  an  old  servant  to  fear ;  nor,  before  all 
that,  the  pleasure  of  knowing  a  person  as  sensi- 
ble and  as  amiable  as  Marie  Monthez.  I  con- 
gratulate you,  miller,  with  all  my  heart.  She  is 
a  person  whom  any  one  might  be  proud  to  see 
at  the  head  of  his  household.  I  have  never 
heard  her  spoken  of  with  anything  but  the 
greatest  esteem." 

Baptiste  burst  out  laughing  again,  and  I 
thought  it  very  funny  while  I  heard  him,  that 
Marie  Monthez  could  care  for  any  one  so  stupid 
and  awkward  as  he. 

"It's  not  done  yet,"  he  said.  "We  must  have 
a  little  time.  But  we  shall  see  —  we  shall  see. 
Here's  your  turning,  Esquebesse." 


I40  HECTOR. 

The  cart  stopped  as  he  spoke,  and  we  found 
ourselves  at  the  corner  of  the  road  which  led 
down  to  Esquebesse's  cottage. 

We  all  got  out  of  the  cart,  and  the  miller 
drove  on,  still  chuckling  to  himself  in  high 
good-humor. 

"  Great  egoist,  va  !  "  Esquebesse  muttered  as 
he  stood  and  looked  after  him  for  a  moment. 
"  The  idea  never  crosses  your  mind  to  ask  your- 
self whether  you  will  make  her  happy,  with  your 
tastes  and  your  habits  and  your  fine  linen  shirts. 
But  since  she  is  good  enough  to  love  you,  I  -ask 
nothing  better.  Come,  children,  run  to  take  the 
stiffness  out  oi  your  limbs." 

Hector  and  I  enjoyed  the  next  hour  at  Esque- 
besse's cottage  as  much  as  any  part  of  the  day. 
The  dogs,  hearing  Esquebesse's  voice,  trotted 
down  the  lane  in  friendly  fashion  to  meet  us,  and 
we  all  went  together  into  the  dark  kitchen  ;  then 
when  Esquebesse  had  uncovered  the  ashes  and 
thrown  a  bundle  of  dry  vine-twigs  on  the  smoul- 
dering hearth,  he  bade  Hector  blow  up  the  fire 
and  showed  me  the  sideboard  at  the  far  end, 
where  stood  everything  I  needed  for  laying  the 
table. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  he  said,  as  he  came  back 
with  a  bottle  in  his  hand  from  the  closet  which 


HECTOR.  141 


served  him  for  cellar,  "that  we  have  no  need  of 
a  Marie  Anna.  Here  is  my  soup,  which  has 
been  simmering  all  day  by  the  hot  ashes.  We 
have  eggs,  we  have  hone}',  and  after  supper  you 
shall  see  if  I  cannot  make  hot  wine  with  any 
housewife  in  the  country." 

And,  indeed,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  never 
before,  or  since,  drunk  any  hot  wine  so  good.  I 
always  make  it  on  Shrove  Tuesday  now  for 
Grand'mere  from  Esquebesse's  recipe,  but  I 
think  there  must  have  been  some  virtue  in  the 
little  yellow  earthenware  saucepan  he  used  that 
night,  or  perhaps  it  was  our  appetite  after  the 
long  drive,  or  perhaps  the  conversation  with 
which  he  entertained  us. 

I  had  never  thought,  till  I  heard  him  talk,  of 
how  much  life  there  is  in  the  woods  ;  but  as  I 
listened  to  him  I  saw  them  peopled  with  a 
thousand  creatures  whose  very  names  I  ignored; 
and  while  he  told  Hector  chiefly  of  the  habits  of 
birds  and  their  enemies,  the  weasels  and  ferrets 
and  stoats,  a  new  world  seemed  to  rise  up  around 
me — a  world  in  the  midst  of  which  I  had  lived 
hitherto  like  one  blind  and  deaf  and  dumb, 
knowing  nothing  of  that  which  was  taking  place 
constantly  under  my  eyes. 

"Ah  ! "  Esquebesse  said,  "if  you  do  not  take 


142  HECTOR. 

the  trouble  to  watch  them  and  to  know  their 
lives,  and  to  extend  your  sympathies  towards 
them,  they  are  for  you  as  if  they  did  not  exist. 
And  it  is  the  same  thing,  children,  between 
human  beings.  "  There,"  he  took  his  pipe  out 
of  his  mouth  and  waved  it  comprehensively 
towards  the  walls  of  the  cottage,  "  there  we  are 
surrounded  by  millions  of  joys  and  sorrows  and 
interests,  but  all  rests  with  yourself.  If  you  are 
content  to  remain  with  small  knowledge  and 
narrow  sympathies,  the  world  will  be  empty  and 
dead  to  you." 

I  thought  of  what  Dr.  Charles  had  said  of 
the  mountains.  It  is  a  question  of  learning 
their  language  ;  and  that  night  at  all  events, 
when  Esquebesse  lit  his  lantern  and  took  us 
home  through  the  woods,  I  did  not  feel  as 
though  we  were  alone.  I  felt  as  though  we 
were  walking  through  a  crowd.  The  audible 
snoring  of  the  owls  seemed  to  me  only  one  voice 
out  of  the  millions  which,  had  I  kncwn  how  to 
listen,  I  might  have  heard. 


HECTOR.  1  13 


CHAPTER    X. 

'THHE  happiness  of  the  next  few  days  was 
undisturbed,  for  me  by  anything  but  the 
increasing  soreness  between  Soeur  Amelie  and 
Hector,  Hector's  lessons  were  almost  always 
badly  done  ;  Soeur  Amdlie  was,  of  course,  almost 
always  vexed  with  him.  I  saw  that  they  did  not 
like  each  other ;  and  this  troubled  me,  for  I  was 
fond  of  Soeur  Amelie.  I  had  been  accustomed 
to  see  her  every  day  as  long  as  ever  I  could 
remember,  and  she  had  been  always  kind  to  me, 
therefore  I  would  have  liked  her  to  appreciate 
Hector;  and  I  would  have  liked  Hector,  too,  to 
see  that  though  she  was  not  wise  and  great  like 
some  of  the  people  he  had  perhaps  been  accus- 
tomed to  in  England,  still  she  was  good  and 
nice  in  her  way.  He  only  said  that  people  who 
knew  nothing  ought  not  to  try  and  teach  that 
nothing  to  others,  because  nobody  wanted  to 
learn  it ;  and  all  I  could  do  was  to  try  and  make 
up   a   little    to    Soeur  Amelie    by  learning   my 


144  HECTOR. 

own  lessons  extra  well.  I  don't  mean  to  say 
that  I  always  did  this,  because  I  was  not  very 
fond  of  lessons,  and  Soeur  Amelie  vexed  me  so 
much  sometimes  by  the  way  she  talked  to 
Hector,  that  I  could  not  care  to  please  her ;  but 
when  I  was  feeling  good.  I  tried  as  much  as 
I  could  to  keep  her  in  good-humor  by  doing 
everything  myself  that  I  thought  she  would  like, 
and  that  used  to  make  her  often  far  pleasanter 
to  Hector.  In  this  way  we  got  on  fairly  well, 
and  when  she  was  not  there  Hector  and  I  were 
so  happy  together  that  we  scarcely  thought 
about  her. 

"  Zelie,"  Hector  said  one  day,  when  he  was 
sitting  as  usual  on  the  kitchen  doorstep  with  the 
" Aviceptologie"  open  on  his  crossed  knees,  "do 
you  think  I  am  ingenious.'*" 

"I  think  you  might  be  ingenious  if  you  liked," 
I  said. 

"  And  quick  and  active,  and  full  of  fore- 
thought ;  also  dexterous  and  industrious  and 
imaginative .'' " 

"  I  don't  know,  Hector.  That's  a  great  deal 
to  ask.      Why  do  you  want  to  know.-*" 

"Because  I  want  to  be  all  that." 

"  It  is  very  grand  to  aim  so  high,"  I  said, 
with  a  sigh  of  admiration.     "  For  quickness  and 


HECTOR.  145 

activity  and  cleverness,  I  am  sure  you  won't 
find  -it  very  difficult ;  but  for  forethought  and 
industry,  Hector,  I  don't  know.  You  don't  work 
hard." 

"  I  don't  work  at  stupid  things,"  Hector  said. 
"  But  1  could  work  if  it  were  necessary." 

"Yes,  that  I  do  believe,"  I  exclaimed  joyously. 
"If  once  you  could  make  up  your  mind  to  work, 
I  am  sure  you  would  be  industrious.  And  it 
would  be  so  charming.  Hector,  for  then  Soeur 
Amelie  would  not  be  annoyed,  and  she  would 
see  all  your  other  good  qualities." 

"  Because,"  Hector  continued,  without  paying 
much  attention  to  me,  "unless  I  can  become  all 
these  things,  I  shall  never  catch  birds  really 
well.  You  hear  what  this  man  says  :  '  The  first 
and  most  essential  of  all  the  qualities  a  bird- 
catcher  must  have,  is  taste.  Without  it,  it  is 
impossible  to  insure  success,  and  the  chase 
becoming  fruitless,  is  soon  only  irksome.  Taste 
never  exists  without  dexterity  and  industry,  and 
these  are  the  two  qualities  which  lead  necessa- 
rily to  success.'  And  then  again  :  'It  is  also 
important  that  a  bird-catcher  should  be  ingen- 
ious, lively,  active  and  provident,  and  that  his 
imagination  should  always  be  ready  to  come  to 
his  assistance,  because — '  I  can't  read  you  the 
10 


146  BECTOB. 

reasons,  they  are  too  long,  but  you  will  see 
directly  you  begin  to  study  the  question  in 
earnest,  that  without  these  qualities  one  couldn't 
hope  to  do  any  good.  Patience,  too.  Yes,  that 
one  could  learn.  It  is  more  the  quickness  and 
sharpness  and  ready  imagination  that  bother 
me,  because  you  can't  make  yourself  clever  if 
you  are  naturally  stupid." 

"  But  you  can  make  yourself  cleverer,  I  ex- 
pect, if  you  are  naturally  a  little  bit  clever,"  I 
hazarded.  "  That's  why  everybody  works  at 
everything." 

"  Is  spinning  easy  .-'  "  asked  Hector,  looking 
up  at  my  distaff,  which  since  his  admiration  of 
Irma's  industry  I  had  kept  more  constantly 
in  use. 

"  Oh  yes,  quite  easy.     Try." 

He  tried,  but  the  tow  came  in  lumps  and 
would  not  twist,  the  spindle  would  not  turn 
round  in  his  unaccustomed  fingers.  Finally,  he 
dropped  it,  and  some  of  the  yarn  which  I  had 
already  spun  was  unwound  in  a  dirty  puddle. 
That  did  not  matter  at  all,  for  in  a  minute  I  had 
broken  off  the  dirty  piece  and  spun  as  much 
again  in  its  place. 

"  It  is  only  that  you  have  never  practised  it," 
I   said   to    Hector,   "and   it  is  not  worth  your 


RECTOR.  147 

while,  for  it  is  not  boys'  work.  I  was  just  as 
bad  at  first,  but  I  made  myself  cleverer." 

"  Every  one  here  is  clever,"  Hector  said ; 
"even  Madelon  knows  a  lot  of  things.  She  can 
spin  and  weave  and  make  wine,  besides  making 
bread  and  bacon,  and  all  that  a  common  cook 
knows  how  to  do.  As  for  Grand'mere,  she  is 
the  cleverest  woman  I  have  ever  seen.  If  she 
was  cast  on  a  desert  island,  she  would  do  every- 
thing that  was  wanted.  She  could  sow  and  reap 
and  grind,  and  cook  the  food  ;  she  could  spin 
and  weave,  and  cut  out  and  make  the  clothes. 
She  knows  all  about  building  and  tiling  and 
thatching.  She  knows  about  draining  land,  and 
about  doctoring  sick  people.  I  think  she  ought 
to  be  a  queen." 

I  imagine  Grand'mere  in  her  short  gray  dress 
and  her  shady  hat  and  her  wooden  shoes,  with 
her  dear  old  withered  brown  face,  sitting  upon 
the  throne  of  France,  which  I  had  always 
pictured  to  myself  as  being  made  of  pure  gold ; 
and  fond  as  I  was  of  her,  I  could  not  help 
laughing. 

"  Queens  are  not  like  that.  Hector,"  I  said  ; 
"  they  are  grand  ladies,  and  beautiful  and 
young." 

"  Well,  they  ought  to  be  like  that,"  he  said, 


148  HECTOR. 


"so  that  they  could  be  useful  to  their  people. 
What's  the  good  of  grand  ladies,  beautiful  and 
young,  to  be  dressed  out  in  silks  and  satins  for 
a  crowd  to  stare  at  ?  It  would  be  much  better 
if  they  could  show  people  how  to  make  good 
bread.  I  think  what  Esquebesse  said,  that  real 
gentlemen  and  kings  and  queens  ought  to  be  the 
people  who  know  most,  and  who  do  most  for 
every  one  else.  That's  why  I'm  going  to  try 
and  learn  bird-catching.  I  don't  know  how  to 
do  one  single  thing,  now,  that's  useful." 

"  But,  Hector,  you  know  we  learn  our  lessons, 
and  that  will  make  us  useful." 

"  If  we  did  real  sensible  work,  it  would  ;  little 
rubbish  lessons,  like  ours,  aren't  any  good. 
Nobody  would  ever  grow  clever  on  that  sort  of 
stuff;  but  just  look  at  Esquebesse,  how  clever 
he  is  with  going  about  in  the  woods,  watching 
the  animals  and  thinking  as  much  as  he  likes." 

I  saw  that  Hector  was  as  far  as  ever  from 
working  well  for  Sceur  Amelie,  and  as  she  was 
at  that  moment  coming  up  the  lane,  we  dropped 
the  subject.  By  the  time  she  had  reached  the 
house  Hector  had  disappeared,  and  a  minute 
after  I  caught  sight  of  him  in  the  stable  begging 
some  hairs  out  of  the  horse's  tails  from  Jean. 
He  stumbled  through   his  lessons  that  morning, 


HECTOR.  149 

however,  without  special  difficulty,  and  in  a 
couple  of  hours  we  were  both  of  us  free  to  study 
to  our  hearts'  content  the  art  of  twisting  horse- 
hairs for  birdtraps.  It  was  in  working  like  this 
with  Hector  that  I  first  began  to  understand  the 
pleasure  of  reading,  for  I  saw  how  he  got  from 
books  just  what  he  \Vanted  to  know.  The 
"Aviceptologie"  told  us  exactly  how  many  hairs 
to  use  for  the  cord  of  a  snare ;  how  to  knot  them 
together  ;  how  t©  hold  them  ;  how  to  twist  them ; 
how  to  finish  them  off  when  they  were  twisted ; 
and  also,  alas,  the  manner  and  purpose  of  their 
use. 

"  I  suppose  a  bird-catcher  must  kill  birds,"  I 
said  to  Hector ;  and  I  saw  by  his  answer  that  he 
had  been  thinking  too  upon  this  subject. 

"He  must  kill  them  in  these  snares,"  he  said; 
"but  I  don't  intend  to  practice  much  with  these. 
I  shall  only  use  them  once  or  twice,  just  to  see 
if  I  can,  and  then  I  shall  go  on  regularly  with 
bird-calling.  That  will  be  as  good  for  me,  and 
as  I  sha'n't  wring  their  necks  when  they  copie, 
the  little  extra  exercise  of  trotting  after  me  will 
do  the  birds  no  harm." 

Immediately  after  dinner  we  escaped  to  the 
woods,  and  Hector  began  to  set  his  snares.  As 
a  snare   was   nothing    but   a   noose   of    horse- 


150  HECTOR. 


hair,  of  which  one  end  was  made  fast  in  a 
branch,  the  only  difficulty  of  setting  them  was 
to  choose  spots  in  the  wood  where  birds  were 
likely  to  pass.  In  order  to  do  this,  we  had  to 
watch  the  birds.  Hector  was  very  patient ;  he 
would  lie  for  half-an-hour  at  a  time  in  one  spot 
absorbed  by  all  that  he  saw  and  heard,  and 
though  my  ear  was  never  as  quick  as  his  to 
catch  the  different  notes  of  the  birds'  songs, 
my  eyes  soon  became  practised,  and  I  took 
almost  as  much  pleasure  as  he  in  watching  the 
strange  and  beautiful  things  that  went  on  around 
us.  It  was  thus  that  I  first  conceived  the  love 
of  natural  history  which  has  been  such  a  pleas- 
ure in  my  life.  Hour  after  hour,  as  the  summer 
went  on,  Hector  and  I  used  to  lie  side  by  side 
upon  our  stomachs  listening  and  looking  in 
different  parts  of  the  woods ;  and  I  cannot 
attempt  to  write  down  a  fiftieth  part  of  the  won- 
derful things  we  saw.  Insects,  birds,  flowers, 
animals,  even  the  harmless  kind  of  serpents, 
begame  interesting  to  us ;  and  in  the  big  book- 
case in  the  drawing-room,  which  I  had  never 
thought  of  opening.  Hector  discovered  an  old 
copy  of  M.  Buffon's  "Natural  History,"  which 
told  us  most  things  that  we  wanted  to  know. 
On    this   first   day,    however,   we   were  very 


HECTOR.  151 

ignorant,  and  the  only  result  of  looking  with  all 
our  eyes,  and  listening  with  all  our  ears  was  to 
make  us  feel  that  the  woods  were  a  thousand 
times  fuller  than  we  had  thought,  and  that  it 
was  impossible  to  take  count  of  the  movement 
which  was  going  on  there.  There  were  num- 
bers of  birds  twittering  everywhere;  therefore, 
after  a  time,  we  set  six  snares  very  much  on 
chance,  and  after  that  Hector  said  to  me  that 
we  must  find  a  bird's-nest. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  take  eggs,  are  you  ? " 
I  asked. 

"  No  !  "  he  answered  very  shortly.  "  But  I 
want  another  snare.  Have  you  four  more  horse- 
hairs .-• " 

I  told  him  that  I  had,  and  he  took  them  a^nd 
knotted  them  together;  then  we  hunted  in  the 
bushes  for  a  nest.  Before  long  we  found  one. 
It  was  built  very  nearly  on  the  ground,  amongst 
the  chestnut  shoots  which  were  springing  up 
from  the  roots  of  an  old  stump.  The  mother- 
bird  was  sitting  when  we  first  discovered  it;  but, 
frightened  at  our  intrusion,  she  flew  away  ;  and 
while  she  wheeled  uneasily  over  our  heads,  we 
were  able  to  examine  at  leisure  the  little  semi- 
circular nest,  carefully  and  elaborately  woven  of 
blades  of  grass,  and  the  five  greyish-brown  eggs 


152  HECTOR. 

which  lay  upon  the  warm,  soft  lining  of  the 
nest.  The  sun  shining  through  the  chestnut 
shoots  threw  light  shadows  across  them,  and  I 
thought  what  a  lovely  little  home  it  was  for  the 
male  bird  to  come  back  to. 

-'  Isn't  she  tiny,"  I  said,  "  to  have  done  all 
this.''  It  seems  impossible  that  two  little  birds 
should  have  the  sense  to  build  themselves  such 
a  beautiful  home." 

Hector  did  not  answer.  He  had  fastened 
some  string  to  either  end  of  his  bit  of  twisted 
horse-hair,  and  he  made  one  end  secure  to  a 
chestnut  branch  at  the  back  of  the  nest,  then 
he  made  a  loose  knot  in  the  horse-hair  itself, 
and  pulled  it  open  with  his  fingers  till  the  circle 
of  it  was  about  the  size  of  the  nest ;  this  he  laid 
upon  the  nest,  and  taking  in  his  hand  the  long 
end  of  string  which  lay  upon  the  ground,  he 
signed  to  me  to  hide  with  him  beneath  a  box 
bush.  The  instant  we  were  out  of  sight  the 
uneasy  mother-bird  descended  with  a  sudden 
drop  upon  her  nest,  and  ceasing  her  little  plain- 
tive notes,  seemed  to  swell  with  content  to  find 
all  well  as  she  nestled  once  more  upon  the  eggs. 
I  did  not  know  what  Hector  meant  to  do,  but  I 
suspected  something  horrible,  and  my  heart  was 
beating  fast  with  apprehension  when  I  saw  his 


HECTOB.  153 

arm  suddenly  move.  Almost  at  the  same  instant 
there  was  a  loud  piteous  tweak  from  the  little 
nest,  and  as  Hector  rose,  I  saw  that  the  string 
was  drawn  quite  tight,  and  in  the  noose  formed 
by  the  horse-hair  the  bird  hung  by  the  neck 
quite  dead. 

"  Oh,  Hector !  "  I  cried,  "  what  have  you 
done  ?     It  is  cruel." 

But  I  said  no  more.  He  looked  even  more 
upset  than  I.  There  was  a  flushed  spot  in  each 
of  his  cheeks,  and  lie  stood  with  the  string  still 
in  his  hand,  staring  as  though  fascinated  at  his 
little  victim.  It  was  a  brownish-yellow  bird, 
with  white  and  black  stripings  underneath,  and 
the  sun  which  shone  through  the  chestnut  twigs 
upon  the  warm  eggs,  shone  too  upon  its  pretty 
plumage,  upon  its  relaxed  legs  and  limp  falling 
head,  showing  too  plainly  that  already  life  was 
gone. 

"I  see  it  is  true,"  he  said.  "  I  did  not  believe 
it  was  so  easy." 

I  did  not  say  anything,  but  went  up  to  the 
nest  to  feel  the  eggs. 

"  I  had  to  do  it,  Zelie,"  Hector  said  after  a 
little  pause.  "  If  I  want  to  be  a  bird-catcher,  I 
ought  to  try  all  ways." 

I  was  only  thinking  that  the  eggs  would  never 
be  hatched  now.     I  could  not. speak. 


154  HECTOR. 

"If  I  could  kill  the  he-bircl,"  Hector  said, 
raising  his  head. 

•'Isn't  it  enough?"  I  asked,  almost  choking 
with  a  kind  of  anger  to  think  he  could  be  cruel. 

"  It  is  that,  if  I  could  kill  the  he-bird,  he 
would  never  know  that  she  was  dead  first,  and 
the  eggs  don't  know  they  were  to  be  hatched." 

He  seemed  to  understand  what  I  meant,  for 
his  face  was  red  all  over,  and  his  lip  was  quiver- 
ing. I  saw  that  whatever  his  reason  was  for 
killing  the  bird,  he  was  not  cruel  and  heartless, 
and  I  was  ashamed  of  my  disloyal  suspicion.  I 
did  not  tell  him  that,  but  when  he  came  up  to 
undo  the  string  from  the  branch  to  which  he  had 
fastened  it,  and  I  saw  that  he  could  not  see  the 
knot  because  two  big  tears  had  gathered  in  his 
eyes,  I  could  not  help  leaning  over  the  nest  and 
putting  my  irm  round  his  neck. 

"  Let  us  go  and  bury  it  somewhere,"  I  said ; 
"  and  now  that  we  know  it  can  be  done,  we  shall 
not  need  to  take  any  more  this  way." 

But  we  were  not  yet  at  the  end  of  our  troubles 
on  account  of  that  little  bird. 

We  were  standing  still  beside  the  nest.  Hec- 
tor with  the  bird  and  the  string  in  his  hand, 
when  Irma  came  suddenly  upon  us. 

She  asked  us  first,  in  her  bright  cordial  fashion, 


HECTOR.  155 

what  we  were  doing ;  and  then  perceiving  the 
nest  and  the  strangled  bird  in  Hector's  hand, 
she  divined  what  had  happened,  and  burst  out 
into  reproaches  against  Hector. 

"  What  you  have  done  is  very  ill,"  she  said. 
"  You  think,  perhaps,  that  because  you  are  only 
a  boy,  you  may  be  cruel  if  you  like ;  but  it  is 
not  so.  Boys  who  have  hearts  amuse  themselves 
certainly,  sometimes,  with  catching  birds,  but 
they  could  not  go  and  treacherously  seize  a  poor 
mother  brooding  upon  her  eggs.  It  is  not  only 
she  you  have  killed,  but  all  those  little  ones ; 
and  look,  there  now  is  her  mate  flying  home 
with  food  for  the  family  you  have  destroyed." 
It  was  true  :  another  bird  of  the  same  kind  was 
wheeling  above  our  heads,  showing  unmistaka- 
bly by  its  movements  on  what  spot  it  would 
descend. 

"Ah!  poor  lark,"  Irma  cried,  holding  out  to 
it  the  dead  body  of  its  mate,  "  you  will  never 
see  her  again.  You  will  never  hear  her  voice 
of  welcome.  Keep  your  food,  there  is  no  one 
at  home  to  need  it." 

"  Is  it  a  lark  .-*  "  Hector  asked. 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  lark,  and  you  are  a  horribly  cruel 
boy,"  Irma  replied  with  a  burst  of  anger,  which 
even  then,  children  as  we  were,  we  understood 


156  HECTOR. 

to  be  in  some  measure  greater,  because  it  was 
Georges'  bird  that  Hector  had  killed.  "  But, 
tenez,  you  will  suffer  for  it  all  the  same,  for  those 
who  have  no  heart  do  not  enjoy  life.  They 
make  others  miserable,  and  they  are  contempti- 
ble themselves." 

She  spoke  with  so  much  passion  that  the  tears 
started  to  her  eyes ;  then,  perhaps  because  she 
did  not  want  us  to  see,  she  walked  on  quickly 
and  left  us  by  the  nest. 

Hector  stood  looking  at  the  dead  bird  in  his 
hand. 

"  I  think  there  must  be  somebody  without 
much  heart  who  is  making  her  unhappy  now," 
I  said ;  "  She  was  crying  when  she  went  away, 
and  she  would  not  have  been  so  angry  only  for 
the  l?ird." 

"  She  might  have  been  so  angry  for  the 
cruelty,"  Hector  said.  And  indeed  it  seemed 
as  though  that  was  the  case,  for  we  had  not 
gone  much  farther  before  we  met  Esquebesse, 
and  found  that  Irma  had  told  him  the  story  with 
an  indignation  which  had  in  some  measure  com- 
municated itself  to  him.  He  also  spoke  strongly 
to  Hector  of  the  cruelty  of  killing  a  brooding 
bird. 

"  If  it  is  only  to  carry  trouble  and  confusion 


HECTOR.  157 

to  innocent  beings,  who  are  fulfilling  the  duties 
Nature  has  imposed  on  them,  that  you  spend 
your  time  in  the  woods,  you  would  do  better  to 
confine  yourself  to  the  higl\-road,"  he  said. 
"  To  understand  Nature  you  must  love  it.  If 
you  would  enter  into  the  life  of  the  woods,  put 
all  thought  of  your  own  profit  out  of  your  mind; 
leave  selfishness  in  the  towns,  and  on  the  roads, 
where  men  piass  up  and  down.  There  it  is  per- 
haps needed.  But  in  the  woods  there  is  no  com- 
petition for  man,  no  one  wants  to  pass  beyond 
him,  no  one  occupies  themselves  with  the 
thought  of  him ;  he  may  forget  himself  alto- 
gether. Without  selfishness,  neither  greed  nor 
cruelty  exists.  The  heart,  if  you  let  it,  will 
expand  here  naturally  among  the  works  of  God; 
but  if  you  bring  selfishness  with  you,  you  cover 
yourself  as  it  were  with  a  shell  which  shuts  you 
out  from  all  true  fellowship  with  Nature.  It  is 
very  fine  to  love  knowledge ;  all  intelligent 
beings  must  necessarily  love  it.  Listen  to  the 
living  sounds  of  the  woods,  and  get  well  into 
your  little  head  that  there  is  a  lesson  beyond  all 
others  which  they  will  teach  you,  if  you  can 
learn  it, — that  is,  to  respect  the  lives  of  others." 
I  have  known  since  how  Esquebesse  carried 
out  his  maxim,  and  how  his  lonely  existence  was 


158  HECTOR. 

guided  by  respect  for  the  lives  and  happiness  of 
others.  But  even  then  his  slow  and  t'loughtful 
sentences  impressed  both  me  and  Hector,  and 
we  went  away  very  gravely  to  bury  the  bird 
Hector  had  killed.  For  a  long  time  after  that, 
if  I  felt  inclined  to  be  selfish,  the  remembrance 
of  the  cold  eggs  in  the  nest  and  the  desolate 
he-bird,  used  to  come  between  me  and  my  incli- 
nation, and  Esquebesse's  simple  "respect  the 
lives  of  others,"  has  made  me  act  kindly  very 
often  since,  when  without  the  thought  of  it  I 
might  have  been  unkind. 

After  we  had  buried  the  bird,  we  went  with 
some  fear  to  visit  our  snares.  We  neither  of  us 
said  anything,  but  I  am  sure  Hector  hoped  with 
all  his  heart,  as  I  did,  that  there  might  be  noth- 
ing in  them.  It  was  not  till  we  had  arrived  at 
the  place  where  they  were  set  that  we  remem- 
bered, for  the  first  time,  the  very  important 
necessity  of  baiting  them.  Naturally,  as  we 
had  put  nothing  to  entice  the  birds  into  them, 
they  were  all  in  exactly  the  condition  in  which 
they  had  been  left ;  and  Hector's  face  began  to 
brighten  as  with  much  alacrity  we  took  them 
down. 

"  It  is  not  the  season  to  set  snares  now,"  he 
said.     "  I   had  forgotten   that  all   the  birds  we 


EECTOB.  159 

took  in  them  would  be  mothers  or  fathers,  with 
young  ones  waiting  for  them  at  home.  We 
wont  try  them  any  more  till  the  autumn  or 
winter." 

This  resolution  cheered  us  both  considera])ly , 
but  we  found,  to  my  regret,  when  we  reached 
the  house,  that  the  story  of,  as  it  was  now 
called,  Hector's  want  of  heart,  had  preceded  us. 
Grand'mere  received  us  after  her  own  fashion 
with  a  vigorous — 

"  Ah  !  it  is  pretty  to  go  out  in  this  fine  sun- 
shine to  kill  mothers  of  families.  Fi  done, 
Monsieur-  Hector,  I  should  have  thought  you 
had  more  heart." 

Soeur  Amelie,  who  was  there,  shook  her  head 
and  looked  solemn,  and  asked  how  he  would 
like  to  have  that  kind  of  thing  done  to  himself, 
and  whether  he  did  not  know  that  cruelty  was  a 
sin  .-•  Madelon  even  must  needs  say  her  say  as 
usual,  and  she  jeered  at  the  fine  hunter  who 
killed  his  brooding  birds.  But  Hector  did  not 
seem  to  pay  the  least  attention  to  any  of  them. 
He  only  looked  absently  in  front  of  him  while 
they  talked,  and  slipped  away  almost  immedi- 
ately to  the  drawing-room,  where  I  found  him  a 
minute  or  two  afterwards  sitting  at  the  foot  of 
the  old  bookcase  absorbed  in  M.  Buffon, 


i6o  EECTOB. 


Grand'mere  heard  us  there,  and  came  in, 
"  No,  no,"  she  said,  "  no  indulgences  for  people 
who  permit  themselves  to  be  selfish.  The 
drawing-room  is  not  for  children.  Shut  the 
shutter." 

Hector  got  up,  with  a  strange  white,  tired 
look  on  his  face,  and,  without  asking  if  he  might 
take  the  book  elsewhere,  he  replaced  it  in  the 
bookshelf  and  left  the  room.  I  saw  Grand'mere 
look  curiously  after  him,  and  I  longed  to  tell  her 
that  he  was  not  obstinate  or  hard-hearted,  but  I 
did  not  dare. 

The  granaries  were  open  that  day,  and  five 
minutes  later  Hector  was  singing  at  the  top  of 
his  voice  as  he  worked  away  with  a  wooden 
spade,  helping  the  men  to  fill  some  sacks  with 
wheat. 

We  saw  him  from  the  kitchen  through  the 
open  doors  above  the  stable,  standing  by  a  great 
brown  heap  of  wheat,  in  his  long-sleeved  blue 
pinafore,  with  his  ruddy  hair  all  standing  out  in 
disorder  round  his  head,  and  his  face  bright  with 
the  unwonted  exercise. 

"There  is  one,"  said  Madelon,  "who  doesn't 
put  himself  out  for  what  people  say." 

"  It  is  greatly  to  be  feared — "  Soeur  Am61ie 
was  beginning,  when  Grand'mere  almost  simul- 
taneously answered  Madelon. 


HECTOR.  l6l 

"  Well,  and  what  would  you  have  him  do — go 
and  whimper  in  a  corner  because  we  say  to  him 
a  few  sharp  words  which  he  deserves  ?  Ma  foi ! 
it  is  a  funny  doctrine,  and  I  prefer  a  little  more 
activity." 

Soeur  Amelie  said  no  more  to  Grand'mere ; 
but  I  am  sure  she  talked  to  other  people,  for, 
from  that  day,  I  could  see  that  Hector  had 
everywhere  the  reputation  of  being  heartless. 

It  used  to  make  me  angry  to  hear  the  neigh- 
bors say  that  the  English  were  always  cold 
hearted  ;  but  it  is  difificult  to  silence  people's 
tongues,  or  to  make  them  think  what  you  would 
like  them  to  think  of  those  you  love. 

In  one  way,  however,  this  only  drew  me  closer 
to  Hector ;  for  I  think  there  is  nothing  which 
binds  you  so  close  to  any  one  as  to  be  in  the 
secret  of  his  goodness. 


i62  HECTOR. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

A  FTER  the  affair  of  the  lark,  Irma  seemed 
to  take  quite  a  dislike  to  Hector,  and  as 
she  came  up  to  Salaret  twice  every  day  to  fetch 
her  milk,  she  soon  showed  it  enough  for  him  to 
see,  as  well  as  I,  what  she  felt.  It  did  not  make 
a  bit  of  difference  to  his  admiration  for  her ;  he 
continued  to  like  her  just  as  much,  and  to  think 
her  as  pretty  as  he  had  always  thought  her ;  ana 
he  used  to  hang  about  the  yard  and  talk  to  her 
almost  always  when  she  came  up  to  the  house. 
I  think  her  short  answers  and  her  rebuffs  hurt 
him,  because  I  used  to  see  the  same  white,  tired 
look  on  his  face  sometimes  that  I  had  seen  the 
day  Grand'mere  sent  him  out  of  -the  drawing- 
room  ;  but  he  never  told  me  that  they  did,  or 
gave  any  hint  that  he  noticed  her  manner  to 
him,  except  by  just  occasionally  talking  about 
himself  as  a  kind  of  boy  you  couldn't  expect 
people  to  care  for  much. 


HECTOB.  163 


We  stuck  to  our  resolution  of  setting  no 
more  snares  in  the  springtime,  and  Hector 
continued  day  after  day  to  practice  bird-calls 
down  in  the  woods,  till  he  could  at  last  imitate 
the  cry  of  the  lark  and  one  or  two  others  almost 
as  well  as  Georges  himself.  I  had  not  his  ear  or 
his  voice,  neither  should  I  ever  have  had  the 
patience  to  go  on  trying  as  he  did,  day  after  day, 
so  I  did  not  attempt  to  learn  the  bird-calls  ;  but 
it  was  a  g-reat  delight  to  both  of  us  to  find  that 
he  really  was  succeeding.     We  certainly  carried 

out    the    instructions    of    Monsieur    B ,   the 

unknown  author  of  the  "  Aviceptologie,"  for 
we  spent  the  greater  part  of  our  time  in  the 
woods  studying  constantly  the  cries  of  the  birds, 
and  Hector  endeavored,  as  he  was  told,  to  follow 
their  example  punctually.  We  learned,  sooner 
than  I  should  have  thought  possible,  to  dis- 
tinguish between  their  cries  of  joy,  their  cries 
of  alarm,  and  the  songs  with  which  they  re- 
joiced in  peace ;  and  often,  as  we  sat  together 
listening  on  a  chestnut  stump,  I  used  to  amuse 
Hector  by  making  up  whole  stories  out  of  the 
different  cries  we  heard  uttered  and  answered. 
Grand'mere  did  not  mind  how  long  we  stayed 
out  of  doors,  for  I  always  took  my  spinning  with 
me,  and  in  ordinary  seasons  there  was  nothing 


164  HECTOR. 

special  for  Hector  to  do  at  the  farm.  She  fan- 
cied, I  believe,  that  we  stayed  in  the  wood  near 
the  house ;  but  we  did  not  really,  for  there  was 
a  particular  kind  of  couch-grass  which  Hector 
wanted  very  much  for  making  whistles  to  imitate 
the  cry  of  the  owl,  and  we  roamed  through  all 
the  woods  in  the  neighborhood  in  the  hope  of 
finding  it.  We  never  succeeded  in  finding 
exactly  the  sort  which  the  author  of  the  ''Avi- 
ceptologie  "  recommended,  but  we  found  two  or 
three  other  kinds,  and  in  our  search  after  it 
became  by  degrees  acquainted  with  a  great  many 
of  the  grasses  and  flowers  of  our  woods  which  I, 
at  least,  should  probably  never  have  known  had 
it  not  been  for  Hector's  activity. 

In  these  rambles  too  we  used  often  to  meet 
Dr.  Charles  of  Portalouve,  and  he  always  took 
some  kindly  notice  of  us.  He  interested  him- 
self in  our  search  after  the  couch-grass,  and  in 
fact  joined  in  it,  for  he  too  was  constantly 
hunting  for  specimens  of  our  native  plants. 
Whenever  we  met  we  used  to  ask  news  of  each 
other  of  the  couch-grass,  and  he  used  to  look  at 
the  flowers  we  had  gathered  and  tell  us  about 
them.  Then,  too,  he  was  often  hungry  and  far 
away  from  his  dinner,  and  he  used  to  delight  us 
by   simply   accepting    half    of    the   bread   and 


I 


HECTOR.  165 


garlic,  or  curd  cheese,  with  which  we  were 
generally  provided.  I  have  known  since  that 
his  mother  used  to  be  vexed  that  he,  whose 
parents  were  so  well  to  do,  should  wander  about 
the  country  like  a  poor  man  trusting  to  the 
chance  of  finding  himself  near  some  little 
country  inn  to  eat ;  but  he  never  was  able  to 
remember  those  things  for  himself,  and  it  used 
to  make  us  very  happy  to  meet  him,  and  have 
the  chance  of  dividing  our  goiiter  into  three 
parts  instead  of  two.  We  always  took  care  that 
his  part  should  be  the  largest,  and  he  used  often 
to  see  that,  and  laugh  and  say,  "  Nevertheless,  I 
accept ;  I  am  hungrier  than  you  ; "  and  then  we 
could  almost  have  hugged  him  for  pleasure. 

One  day  we  were  all  three  sitting  on  a  heap 
of  stones  by  the  roadside,  eating  bread  and 
garlic,  with  a  great  bundle  of  faded  flowers,  and 
the  specimen  box  and  my  distaff  lying  in  the 
dust  beside  us,  when  a  handsome  carriage  rolled 
slowly  past,  in  which  was  one  little  shrivelkd  old 
man,  He  was  wrapped  up  in  a  great-coat  and 
scarf,  though  the  day  was  so  warm  that  we  had 
been  freely  wiping  our  faces  with  our  handker- 
chiefs just  before  he  came  up;  and  when  he  saw 
Dr.  Charles  he  stopped  the  carriage. 

"I  know  it  is  folly.  Doctor,  for  me  to  be  out," 


i65  n  EC  TOR. 

he  said  in  a  thin,  quavering  voice,  "  but  they 
told  me  my  voice  might  be  useful  in  the  elec- 
tions to  the  Conseils  Generaux,  and  they  dragged 
me  from  my  chimney  corner." 

"  There  is  no  harm  in  that,  monsieur ;  to 
move  about  a  little  will  do  you  good.  And  how 
go  the  elections  ?  " 

"  Badly,  as  badly  as  they  can  go.  I  knew  it 
beforehand,  and  I  told  them  it  was  useless  to 
disturb  ourselves.  What  is  the  voice  of  a 
gentleman  nowadays  .-*  Worse  than  nothing 
amidst  the  common  herd  which  takes  pleasure 
in  voting  against  him.  I  saw  to-day,  in  the 
voting  hall,  a  man  who  used  to  be  my  gardener, 
who  is  now  a  member  of  the  town  council,  and 
whose  vote  is  worth  as  much  as  mine.  They 
say  even  that  he  has  influence,  and  that  the 
greater  part  of  the  town  council  votes  with  him. 
The  elections  have  become  a  farce.  I  will 
occupy  myself  with  them  no  more.  May  God 
watch  over  our  unhappy  country." 

Dr.  Charles  was  looking  very  thoughtful. 

"  I  dare  to  believe,  monsieur,  that  He  will 
not  abandon  us,"  he  replied  gravely. 

"  What  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about, 
Doctor,  was  that  last  medicine  you  sent  me," 
continued     the    quavering    voice.      "  It    is    not 


HECTOR.  •  167 

strong  enough,  I  begin  to  think  now  that  I 
need  a  tonic." 

"  Tonics  only  serve  to  augment  an  evil,  unless 
the  system  has  been  prepared  to  receive  them," 
Dr.  Charles  replied,  in  the  same  thoughtful  tone 
as  before. 

"  Then  for  Heaven's  sake  prepare  my  system," 
the  old  gentleman  answered  impatiently ;  and 
Dr.  Charles  seemed  to  wake  up  into  sudden 
laughter,  as  he  replied  : 

"  That  is  not  so  easy,  monsieur,  as  at  first 
sight  it  may  seem."     * 

A  few  more  remarks  were  made  about  the 
medicine  and  exercise  and  a  wholesome  diet, 
..and  the  carriage  drove  on,  leaving  Dr.  Charles 
still  half  thoughtful,  half  amused. 

Hector  had  stood  listening  to  the  dialogue. 

"Is  that  one  of  your  French  aristocracy.-'"  he 
asked,  as  the  carriage  drove  away. 

"  Exactly.  That  is  M,  le  Comte,  of  whom 
you  must  have  heard  Esquebesse  speak. 

We  all  sat  down  and  applied  ourselves  again 
to  our  bread  and  garlic  in  silence,  till  presently 
Hector's  eyes  fell  on  the  bundle  of  flowers  in 
the  road.  "  Supposing  some  giant  collector  was 
looking  out  for  specimens  of  men  and  women," 
he   said,    "  and    he   happened   to  pick  up  M.  le 


i68  nECTOB. 

Comte,  wouldn't  he  think  we  were  a  queer  little 
lot,  and  would'nt  he  be  pretty  well  puzzled,  too, 
to  know  how  all  the  things  in  the  world  got 
done?" 

"Ay,  indeed,"  Dr.  Charles  said.  "And  the 
same  thing  is  but  too  true  of  many  of  our 
gentlemen  of  the  old  blood.  They  need  a  tonic 
badly,  but  who  is  to  prepare  their  system  ? " 

"Is  it  idleness,"  Hector  asked,  "that  makes 
them  what  they  are  ?  " 

"  Esquebesse  would  tell  you  that  idleness  is  at 
the  bottom  of  most  evils,  for  idleness  is  pretty 
sur^  to  bring  self-indulgence,  and  self-indulgence 
brings  selfishness.  Esquebesse  has  too  much 
heart  ever  to  have  worked  fo^  himself  alone, 
therefore  he  thinks  there  is  safety  in  work ;  but 
I  have  seen  industrious  men  only  the  more 
selfish  because  they  have  worked  hard  for  them- 
selves. They  gratify  their  own  wants  so  well, 
that  they  forget  there  are  any  other  wants  in 
the  universe." 

Hector  listened  in  the  eager  way  in  which 
he  always  did  to  anything  which  exercised  his 
mind. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  at  once,  "  but  he  grinds  the 
corn  and  people  eat  it,  so  that  even  if  he  doesn't 
care  to  be  of  use  he  is  of  use.  That's  better 
than  a  selfish  frentleman." 


HECTOE.  169 


I  knew  of  course  that  he  was  thinking  of  the 
miller,  and  what  he  said  made  me  begin  to  think 
in  my  own  heart  that  perhaps  it  was  better  not 
to  be  a  gentleman,  since  a  working-man  had 
only  to  be  honest  and  respectable  in  order  to  be 
of  some  use,  and  a  gentleman  might  so  easily 
be  of  no  use  at  all. 

But  Dr.  Charles  seemed  interested  by  Hector's 
eagerness. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  if  we  except  a  selfish  lady," 
he  patted  my  head  kindly  as  he  spoke  as  though 
to  show  that  he  did  not  think  me  selfish,  "a 
selfish  gentleman  is  perhaps  what  there  is  of 
worst  in  the  human  species,  for  the  same  posi- 
tion which  gives  him  advantages  for  himself 
makes  him  necessarily  an  example  and  leader  to 
many  other  people.  The  power  of  the  cultivated 
man  is  very  great.  If  he  teaches  nothing  but 
selfishness  he  betrays  his  trust,  and  probably 
does,  if  we  could  calculate  it,  a  great  deal  more 
harm  than  the  ruffian  who  cuts  his  neighbor's 
throat  for  the  sake  of  a  few  gold  coins.  On  the 
other  hand,  we  must  remember  this  :  that  if  the 
power  of  the  cultivated  is  enormous,  it  is  great 
for  good  as  well  as  for  evil.  Putting  on  one 
side  the  great  deeds  of  history  for  which  heroes 
have  been  found  in  all  ranks,  we  have  only  to 


170  HECTOE, 

look  round  us  honestly  in  any  civilized  country, 
and  we  see  worthy  and  devoted  gentlemen  doing 
good  which  the  poor  and  uncultivated,  however 
well-disposed,  could  never  hope  to  achieve. 
There  are  gentlemen  who  do  not  cultivate 
themselves,  then  they  or  their  children  soon 
drop  from  the  rank  of  their  forefathers,  and  are 
lost  in  the  mass  of  the  uneducated.  There  are 
among  the  poor  some  who  have  the  energy  and 
the  power  to  cultivate  themselves ;  these  rise, 
either  in  their  own  persons  or  the  persons  of 
their  children,  to  the  rank  of  gentlemen.  I 
make  no  hard-and-fast  line  of  aristocratic  de- 
scent, but  I  call  the  mass  of  the  rich  and  the 
cultivated  gentlemen,  and  I  maintain  that  in  all 
civilized  countries  this  great  mass  is  doing,  on 
the  whole,  enormous  good.  If  you  belong  to  it 
by  birth,  I  would  say  hold  on  to  it  by  every 
means  in  your  power.  Never  abandon  the 
possibilities  for  good  with  which  you  have  been 
endowed.  If  you  do  not  belong  to  it  by  birth, 
strive  to  rise  towards  it  —  try  to  win  a  place  for 
your  children  in  the  upper  half  of  humanity. 
Knowledge  and  riches  are  an  immense  power. 
Men  ought  to  be  powerful ;  and  I  would  no  more 
advise  the  ploughman  to  be  content  to  remain 
ignorant  and  half  brutalized,  than  I  would  advise 


HECTOR.  171 

the  gentleman  to  be  content  to  live  on  the  • 
reputation  of  his  father's  deeds.  As  for  me,  I 
respect  what  is  above  me,  and  my  idea  is  that 
we  should  all  go  higher  together.  After  that, 
I  am  only  a  little  middle-class  doctor,  and  the 
idea  of  our  aristocracy  seems  unfortunately  to 
be  that  we  should  all  go  lower  together.  M.  le 
Comte,  you  see,  is  not  only  determined  to  take 
no  more  interest  in  the  elections  himself,  but  he 
is  angry  that  his  gardener  should  take  an  interest 
in  them  either.  Such  things.  Hector,  when  you 
see  them  in  high  places,  are  sad,  but  they  bring 
home  more  and  more  the  lesson  that  every  man 
should  set  it  before  himself  as  an  aim  to  add 
something  to  the  knowledge  and  advantages  of 
his  fathers." 

There  was  something  in  Hector,  I  think, 
which  made  people  talk  to  him  in  this  way.  He 
took  so  much  interest  in  everything  that  went 
on  round  him,  that  he  scarcely  seemed  at  times 
like  a  child.  People  seemed  to  take  pleasure  in 
telling  him  their  real  thoughts,  and  I,  going 
about  always  with  him  and  listening  to  his  talks, 
got  to  know  our  nearer  neighbors  more  inti- 
mately in  a  month  or  two  with  him  than  in  all 
the  years  I  had  lived  amongst  them  alone.  This 
talk  with  Dr.  Charles  has  remained  in  my  mem- 


173  EECTOE. 

ory,  because  it  was,  I  think,  the  first  thing  which 
made  me  begin  to  feel  myself  what  Hector  felt 
— that  we  had  special  duties,  because  we  were 
born  in  what  Dr.  Charles  called  the  upper  half 
of  mankind.  I  had  always  thought  before  that 
it  was  very  lucky  for  me  that  Grand'mere  wasn't 
poor,  like  some  of  the  peasants  about  Salaret, 
who  had  to  keep  their  children  at  work  all  day, 
and  feed  them  chiefly  on  chestnuts  like  the  pigs, 
and  I  had  even  wondered  sometimes  why  I 
should  have  been  so  favored  ;  but  now  I  began 
to  understand  the  balance  of  things,  and  to  see 
that  if  I  had  better  I  ought  also  to  do  better. 

Dr.  Charles  said  more  than  I  have  repeated 
about  the  use  and  power  of  cultivation.  He 
told  us,  just  as  Esquebesse  had  done,  how  know- 
ledge opened  the  heart,  and  made  men  feel  the 
joys  and  sorrows  of  other  people.  He  told  us 
how  much  the  poor  people  everywhere  needed 
knowledge,  and  how  much  the  rich  were  able 
when  they  chose  to  give  it  to  them ;  and  after 
this  day  I  never  was  inclined  to  think  any  more, 
as  Hector  had  sometimes  made  me  think,  that 
perhaps  it  was  better  not  to  be  a  gentleman :  I 
saw  that  the  best  was  to  be  a  gentleman,  and  a 
good  gentleman. 

As  Dr.  Charles  and  Hector  and  I  were  going 


HECTOR.  173 

back  towards  Salaret  that  day  we  met  Irma 
bringing  her  little  brothers  and  sisters  home 
from  the  Salle  d'Asile.  They  were  all  so  small, 
that  as  she  walked  amongst  them  with  her  dis- 
taff raised,  she  reminded  us  of  the  goose-girls 
when  they  drive  their  flocks  through  the  stubble- 
fields  after  the  corn  has  been  cut ;  and  Dr. 
Charles  said  to  her,  laughingly,  as  we  met — 

"You  are  bringing  back  all  your  little  geese 
quite  safe,  Irma." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Monsieur  le  Docteur,"  she  replied, 
with  her  old  bright  smile,  "and  the  Sisters  tell 
me  that  they  are  good  little  geese,  especially 
this  one."  She  laid  her  hand  kindly  as  she 
spoke  on  a  little  bullet  head  which  reached  but 
a  short  way  above  her  knee,  and  received  an 
affectionate  rub  in  answer  from  the  proud  object 
of  her  praise.  "  That  big  one  there  is  begin- 
ning to  read  words  of  two  syllables.  He  can 
answer  his  questions  nicely  in  his  Histoire 
Sainte,  and  he  can  count  well  now.  This  one," 
and  the  hand  went  down  again  to  the  tiny  crea- 
ture at  her  knee,  "  can  count  up  to  ten,  and 
sings  like  a  little  choir-boy." 

"The  big  one  there"  was  not  seven  yet ;  and 
"this  one  "  was  between  two  and  three.  There 
were  five  altogether,  and  Irma  looked  at  them 


174  HECTOR. 

SO  proudly  and  affectionately  that  Dr.  Charles 
said — 

"  Why,  Irma,  to  see  you  so  pleased  with  them, 
one  might  think  they  were  your  own." 

He/  Monsieur  le  Docteur :  they  are  as  good 
as  mine,  since  they  are  my  brothers  and  sisters, 
and  we  must  hold  together.  Without  that  what 
would  become  of  the  family  .-•  Heaven  knows, 
I  ask  nothing  better  than  to  work  hard  and  do 
my  share  towards  maintaining  them.  But  there 
are  sacrifices  before  which  one  draws  back." 

Her  face  had  grown  grave  while  she  was 
speaking. 

We  did  not  understand  what  she  meant,  but 
Dr.  Charles  seemed  to  understand,  for  he  said 
warmly  and  kindly — 

"At  least,  Irma,  you  have  the  sympathy  of 
all  people  of  heart,  for  when  such  sacrifices  are 
not  necessary  no  one  can  wish  to  see  them 
made  ;  especially  if  they  involve  the  happiness 
of  more  than  one  person." 

The  last  words  brought  the  color  so  vividly 
back  to  Irma's  cheeks,  that  without  knowing 
quite  what  the  sacrifice  she  spoke  of  could  be, 
Hector  and  I  were  at  once  sure  it  had  something 
to  do  with  Georges. 

"  Thank  you,  monsieur,"  she  said.     "  You  do 


HECTOB.  175 

me  good.  When  one  is  alone,  and  then  luty 
seems  to  put  itself  on  the  other  side,  it  is  hard 
sometimes  to  keep  up  one's  resolution.  Voyons, 
Jeanne,  say  '  Bonjour,  monsieur  et  compagnie.'  " 

Jeanne  looked  very  shy  for  a  moment,  but  as 
Irma  insisted  on  the  greeting,  and  the  other 
children  said  it  boldly  in  chorus,  Jeanne  made 
her  little  curtsey  to  Dr.  Charles. 

"Bonjour,  monsieur,"  she  said;  then  to  Hec- 
tor, with  another  curtsey,  "  Bonjour,  compagnie." 
And  while  we  all  laughed  at  the  dignity  to  which 
Hector  was  raised,  Irma  caught  her  up  in  her 
arms  and  carried  her  away  with  a  hearty  kiss. 

We  children  longed  to  know  what  the  sacri- 
fice for  her  brothers  and  sisters,  of  which  she 
had  spoken,  could  possibly  be.  We  would  have 
given  a  good  deal  to  ask  Dr.  Charles,  but  though 
we  chattered  to  him  quite  freely  about  many 
things,  we  did  not  dare  to  ask  him  this,  and  it 
was  not  till  he  had  left  us  that  we  gave  our 
whole  mind  to  conjectures  upon  the  matter. 
The  great  secret  seems  to  me  now  so  simple, 
that  I  hardly  know  how  we  could  help  guessing 
it ;  but  notwithstanding  Hector's  readings  in 
his  uncle's  library,  we  were  quite  ignorant  of 
such  affairs,  and  the  little  brothers  and  sisters 
puzzled  us  completely.     How  Irma  could  be  in 


175  HECTOR. 

any  way  called  upon  to  sacrifice  herself  for 
them  was  a  wonderful  mystery  to  us,  and  our 
guesses  were  wide  of  the  mark  till  it  struck  me 
one  day  that  we  might  go  to  the  forge  and  ask 
Pierre.  He  would  know,  we  felt  sure,  and  we 
were  not  shy  with  him.  He  did  know,  and  after 
assuring  us  that  the  matter  could  not  interest 
us,  and  that  children  could  not  possibly  under- 
stand such  things,  he  told  us  that  I.agrace  was 
poor,  and  found  it  hard  to  bring  up  his  large 
family,  and  that  there  was  an  offer  of  a  rich 
marriage  for  Irma  with  a  middle-aged  man,  who 
was  willing  to  take  her  without  a  marriage  por- 
tion. Irma  stuck  still  to  Georges,  but  her  par- 
ents told  her  it  was  her  duty  to  think  of  her 
family,  and  that  it  was  unnatural  to  think  more 
of  Georges,  who  was  a  stranger,  than  of  the 
little  brpthers  and  sisters,  who  were  her  own 
flesh  and  blood.  Every  one  blamed  her,  Pierre 
said,  for  resisting  her  parents'  wishes  ;  but  when 
our  hearts  were  beating  fast  with  excitement 
over  the  story,  and  our  hopes  for  Georges  were 
very  low,  Pierre  cheered  us  by  the  declaration 
that  he,  at  all  events,  did  not  blame  her.  To 
his  mind,  he  said,  it  was  an  abominable  crime  to 
take  her  from  Georges  and  give  her,  all  young 
and  generous  and  pretty  as  she  was,  to  a  great 


HECTOB.      '  177 


clumsy  fellow,  old  enough  to  be  her  father,  who 
had  never  even  suspected  that  there  is  anything 
else  to  do  in  the  world  but  to  fill  one's  own 
stomach  and  amass  gold  pieces. 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  how  indignantly  we  two 
echoed  Pierre's  opinion.  Hector's  astonished 
disgust  knew  no  bounds,  and  Pierre  said  it  did 
him  good  to  talk  to  us ;  that  only  children 
remained  natural  now-a-days.  Hector  would 
have  liked  to  go  straight  away  and  tell  Georges 
what  they  were  doing.  Pierre  told  him  that 
that  would  be  of  no  use,  for  poor  people  were 
not  like  the  rich ;  they  had  to  sit  still  often  and 
be  patient,  no  matter  what  fretted  their  hearts. 
Georges  could  not  leave  his  regiment,  and  it 
would  only  make  him  miserable  to  know  what 
Irma  was  suffering.  But  for  the  poor  as  for  the 
rich,  Pierre  said  "there  is  the  justice  of  God, 
and  we  shall  see  yet  if  courage  and  good  faith 
will  not  triumph  over  avarice  and  selfishness." 
12 


178  "     HECTOR. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

L^ROM  this  time  the  affair  of  Georges  and 
Irma  occupied  our  thoughts  a  great  deal. 
But  as  Irma  had  said,  people  were  too  busy  in 
the .  summer  months  to  think  about  getting 
married,  and  we  heard  nothing  more  of  it  for 
a  long  time. 

The  hay  was  cut,  the  cherry  harvest  had 
come  and  gone,  the  granaries  at  Salaret  were 
filled  again  almost  to  bursting,  and  the  worst 
heats  of  summer  were  over,  when  one  Saturday 
afternoon  Hector  and  I  were  down,  as  usual,  at 
the  forge. 

Except  on  the  Saturdays  when  Grand'm^re 
took  us  to  Cassagne,  we  hardly  ever  failed  to. 
spend  part  of  that  afternoon  with  Pierre.  He 
called  it  his  reception  day.  His  friends  were 
the  peasants,  and  merchants,  and  peddlers,  and 
tramps,  who  passed  to  and  from  the  market,  and 
though  they  gave  him  many  a  job  as  they  went, 
it  was  not  only  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Pierre 


HECTOR.  179 

work,  that  we  used  to  go  on  Saturdays  to  the 
forge.  It  was  for  the  fun  of  hearing  the  gossip, 
and  seeing  the  people  pass  by.  I  have  thought 
since  then  that  Pierre's  Saturday  reception  was 
to  us  what  the  newspapers  are  to  grown-up 
people,  with  the  difference  that  we  got  our  news 
alive.  He  was  such  a  general  favorite  that  no 
one  would  have  passed  the  forge  without  stop- 
ping to  tell  any  interesting  piece  of  gossip  they 
knew,  and  the  common  remarks  of  those  who 
had  nothing  to  tell  showed  what  subjects  occu- 
pied people's  thoughts.  The  crops  in  their 
various  seasons,  the  weather,  the  goose  fatten- 
ing, the  election,  all  formed  in  their  turn  the 
basis  of  Saturday  conversation,  and  we  used  to 
think,  then,  it  was  a  funny  charm  which  made 
everyone  speak  of  the  same  thing.  If  the 
farmer's  wife  from  the  nearest  farm  said  as 
she  passed,  "  Good  day,  M.  Pierre.  What  a 
wind  for  the  orchards  !  the  ground  was  strewn 
with  little  pears  under  my  big  pear-tree  this 
morning,"  then  we  knew  that  everyone  who 
went  by  would  tell  us  of  the  damage  done  to  his 
orchard  by  the  wind  that  night. 

As  people  trudged  in  laden  in  the  early  part 
of  the  day  they  seldom  stopped  to  talk,  but  if 
Pierre  happened  to  stand  at  the  door  of  the  forge 


i8o  BECTOB. 

each  gave  some  such  bit  of  personal  news  as  he 
went,  and  received  two  words  in  answer.  It  was 
in  the  afternoon  that  Hector  and  I  loved  to 
hang  about  the  door.  Then,  as  the  merry 
groups  clattered  home  with  empty  baskets,  the 
girls  and  boys  in  their  smart  market  clothes 
rejoicing  to  be  rid  of  their  loads,  and  heads  of 
families  looking  content  to  have  the  day's  gain 
stowed  away  in  some  safe  inner  pocket,  everyone 
was  disposed  to  dawdle,  and  all  the  stories  of 
the  market  were  repeated  to  us  with  comments 
and  variations.  Personal  anecdotes  and  gossip 
were  mingled  then  with  business  talk  about 
seed-time  and  harvest,  and  Hector  and  I  scarcely 
knew  whether  we  enjoyed  most  to  listen  to  the 
circle  on  the  threshold  of  the  forge,  or  to  climb 
the  mound  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  road  and 
look  out  for  our  friends  as  they  came.  We  used 
to  try  which  of  us  could  recognize  them  best  at 
a  great  distance  on  the  road,  and  though  we 
sometimes  made  funny  mistakes,  there  were 
people  whom  we  always  knew.  Irma  Lagrace 
was  one.  She  used  to  walk  so  straight,  and  look 
so  slim  and  neat  in  the  sunshine  that  streamed 
through  the  poplars,  that  we  never  mistook  her. 
for  any  of  the  other  girls  of  the  neighborhood, 
and  her  dark  red  skirt  and  white  capeline  made 


HECTOR.  l8l 

one  of  the  spots  of  color  for  which  we  used  to 
look  with  the  greatest  interest ;  Dr.  Charles's 
carriage  with  the  yellow  horse  ;  Esquebesse  and 
his  dogs  were  very  welcome  too ;  but  I  think 
that  our  chief  delight  on  Saturdays  was  to  see 
Baptiste  the  miller  go  by.  He  had  a  heavy  old 
horse  who  used  to  canter  with  his  head  down 
between  his  fore  legs,  and,  though  Baptiste  had 
been  pulling  him  for  nearly  twenty  years,  he  had 
never  succeeded  in  pulling  his  head  up.  So  they 
went  by  fighting  with  each  other  every  week, 
Baptiste  bumping  up  and  down  in  the  saddle, 
with  the  two  white  bags  in  which  he  brought 
home  what  he  wanted  from  market,  flying  out  on 
either  side,  his  blouse  filled  with  wind,  and  his 
face  like  a  full-blown  peony.  He  looked  always 
so  heavy  and  awkward  and  hot,  that  we  who  did 
not  care  for  him  used  to  get  a  great  deal  of 
amusement  out  of  the  contrast  between  his 
figure  and  that  of  his  little  old  servant  Marie 
Anna,  who  went  by  every  Saturday,  too,  on  a 
donkey,  with  a  big  basket  over  her  arm,  looking 
so  immovable  in  her  saddle,  that  she  and  the 
donkey  and  the  basket  might  all  have  been 
made  of  wood,  and  who  never  failed  to  call  out 
in  her  shrill,  hard  voice : 

"  Has  the  miller  passed  this  way .-'" 


i82  n EC  TO  It. 

On  the  particular  Saturday  of  which  I  speak, 
people  were  very  late  in  returning  from  the 
market ;  the  afternoon  was  wearing  on,  and  we 
were  still  inside  the  forge  when  we  heard  the 
voice  of  Marie  Anna  calling  out  as  usual  to 
know  if  the  miller  had  yet  passed  by. 

Pierre  went  out  upon  the  threshold. 

"  Not  a  living  soul  has  passed  since  dinner- 
time," he  said.  "  They  have  had  enough,  no 
doubt,  of  the  great  heat,  and  are  waiting  for  the 
cool  of  the  evening."  But  we  saw,  while  he 
spoke,  that  the  stream  of  home-comers  had  set 
in,  for  the  road  so  empty  before  was  covered 
now  with  moving  groups. 

"  That's  it,"  grumbled  Marie  Anna,  "  every- 
thing passes  now  before  work.  The  weather  is 
warm ;  there  is  news  at  the  market,  and  no 
matter  what  becomes  of  the  work,  so  long  as  we 
take  our  ease  like  princes.  It  is  time  for  these 
things  to  finish  ;  my  master  is  losing  his  head." 

"There  is  news  at  the  market .-•"  Pierre  asked, 
and  we  children  opened  our  ears  for  Marie 
Anna's  answer. 

"  They  speak  of  nothing  but  the  soldiers,"  she 
replied.  "  It  seems  we  are  to  have  five  or  six 
thousand  of  them  on  our  backs  before  long, 
stuffing    themselves    with    our   provisions,    and 


EEC  TOR.  183 

helping  themselves  without  Yes  or  No  to  all 
that  there  is  of  best  in  the  country.  Ah,  I 
know  what  it  is.  They  will  pass  like  a  pest. 
After  them  will  come  desolation.  I  have  seen 
it.  And  over  there,  at  the  market,  they  are 
rejoicing  like  children  because  it  is  new."  She 
spoke  with  all  the  contempt  of  experience  for 
the  ignorant,  and  we  thought  that  the  miller 
would  have  to  be  braver  than  he  looked  if  he 
ventured  to  rejoice  with  her  eye  upon  him. 

"It  is  settled  then,"  said  Pierre.  "The 
soldiers  come  decidedly.  And  when  must  we 
expect  to  see  them  } " 

"  Next  month,  just  in  the  middle  of  the  vin- 
tage. Six  thousand  of  them  to  be  quartered  off 
and  on  for  a  month  in  this  arrondissement  of 
two  thousand  inhabitants.  Think  if  we  shall 
have  them  into  our  very  lofts ;  and  think  what 
will  remain  to  us  of  our  crops  after  they  are 
gone." 

" A//ons,  Marie  Anna.  We  mustn't  judge 
them  beforehand.  As  for  me,  you  know  I  have 
my  nephew  Georges  in  the  army,  and  for  his 
sake  the  soldiers  shall  be  well  received  in  my 
house." 

Georges's  return  had  been  our  first  thought 
when  we  heard  the  news,  and  we  were  radiant 


i84  HECTOR. 

already.  But  Marie  Anna  was  not  to  be 
appeased. 

"  Much  they  will  care,"  she  croaked,  "  how 
they  are  received.  It  is  the  first  time  we  have 
had  such  an  occupation  since  you  have  known 
how  to  understand  things,  but  I  know.  I  have 
a  good  memory.  I  do  not  forget.  They  will 
pass  like  grasshoppers  ;  nothing  will  remain  to 
us.  The  English  themselves  were  not  so  bad  as 
the  French." 

"  Bah  !  we  are  not  in  time  of  war  now.  War 
changes  the  natures  of  men  ;  but  our  soldiers 
are  good.  Q?ie  diable  !  They  are  the  sons  and 
the'  brothers  and  the  nephews  of  people  like 
ourselves,  and  when  they  come  in  tired  and 
footsore  and  hungry,  and  see  there  before  them 
the  master  of  the  house,  who  bids  them  welcome, 
and  pours  them  out  a  draught  of  good  little 
white  wine,  they  will  say  to  themselves,  'Tiens! 
it  is  like  our  father,  or  our  brother,  or  our  uncle, 
down  there  at  home ; '  they  will  drink  to  his 
health,  and  they  will  be  ashamed  to  do  anything 
in  his  house  which  they  would  not  do  in  the 
house  of  their  own  relations." 

One  or  two  other  people  had  come  up,  and 
there  was  a  murmur  of  assent  to  what  Pierre 
said,  only  Marie  Anna  remained  unconvinced, 
and  Pierre  continued  : 


HECTOR.  185 


"  When  you  saw  soldiers  here  it  was  in  time 
of  war.  Instead  of  saying  to  themselves,  '  We 
shall  soon  return  into  our  villages,  and  we  shall 
be  ashamed  if  we  have  done  things  that  are 
disgraceful,'  they  said  to  themselves  :  '  We  are 
going  into  battle  to  be  killed  for  something  we 
don't  care  about  at  all.  We  have  to  give  up  our 
homes,  and  our  families,  and  everything  our 
hearts  cling  to.  Then  kt  us  be  merry  and 
enjoy  what  we  can  take.  It  is  only  just  for 
others  to  suffer  in  their  turn.'  Everyone  can't 
be  a  hero,  and  despair  makes  monsters  of  men. 
Also  after  having  killed  men  for  duty,  after  hav- 
ing seen  one's  self  splashed  with  human  blood, 
after  having  marched  over  the  bodies  of  your 
comrades,  without  paying  attention  to  anything 
but  the  order  of  your  commander  to  close  up  the 
ranks,  your  moral  ideas  are  so  upset  that  a  little 
robbery  and  violence  seems  of  small  account. 
Manoeuvres  in  time  of  peace  are  quite  another 
thing.  Then  the  soldier  is  a  good  honest  fellow, 
who  follows  his  trade  like  one  of  ourselves. 
And  why  should  he  exercise  himself  in  arms  ? 
why  should  he  sweat  under  the  marches  and 
counter-marches,  which  you  will  see  when  they 
are  here .''  why  should  he  have  always  under  his 
eyes  the  possibility  that  he  will  hear  one  day, 


i86  HECTOR. 

'  War  is  declared,'  and  will  be  sent  with  his 
pouch  full  of  cartridges  to  fight  upon  our 
frontier?  Why?  That  he  may  defend  us,  that 
we  good  bourgeois  of  Cassagne  may  sleep  in  our 
beds  tranquil,  and  say  to  ourselves,  '  If  the 
invader  comes,  the  army  is  there ;  the  soldiers 
will  give  their  lives  for  us.'  " 

The  little  circle  had  grown  wider  round  the 
door  of  the  forge,  -and  Pierre's  words  were 
received  with  a  sort  of  acclamation. 

"  That's  it,  Pierre.  You  are  right.  We  must 
think  of  that,"  rose  in  murmurs  from  one  side 
and  the  other,  and  more  than  one  mother  whose 
son's  life  had  been  given,  drew  a  brown  hand 
across  her  eyes,  and  declared  that  for  her  part 
the  soldiers  were  welcome. 

I  could  see  that  Hector  was  listening  eagerly, 
and  I  felt  much  excited.  Young  as  I  had  been 
at  the  time  of  the  war,  I  remembered  still  the 
terrible  scenes  of  desolation,  when  mothers  and 
fathers  came  up  to  Salaret  to  tell  Grand'mere  of 
the  death  of  their  children  ;  I  remembered,  too, 
to  have  seen  Grand'niere  weep  at  the  news  of  a 
great  battle  that  was  lost,  and  I  felt  for  the 
moment,  while  Pierre  was  speaking,  that  I  would 
have  given  everything  I  possessed  to  the  soldiers. 
I  think  Hector  felt  something  like  that  too,  for 


HECTOR.  187 

his  eyes  glowed  as  he  stood  with  his  gaze  riveted 
on  Pierre ;  then,  when  Pierre  had  finished  speak- 
ing, he  looked  with  a  sort  of  curious  interest  at 
the  hard,  peasant  faces,  moved  as  they  were  with 
generous  thoughts,  and  said  to  me,  "I  would 
like  to  be  a  soldier."  Esquebesse  made  one  of 
the  circle  to  which  Pierre  had  spoken,  and  he 
said  : 

"  What  you  say,  Pierre,  is  very  true.  The 
French  soldier  does  not  serve  for  his  own  profit. 
All  that  he  gets  from  the  nation,  besides  his 
food  and  his  clothes  and  his  tobacco,  is  one  little 
sou  a  day,  and  since  for  that  he  gives  us  every- 
thing, we  need  not  grudge  him  once  in  a  way  a 
share  of  our  good  things.  The  billeting  orders 
are  that  each  officer  is  to  have  a  room  to  himself, 
and  the  "  soldiers  shelter  and  straw,  and  a  place 
to  light  their  fire ;  but  we  will  receive  them 
better  than  that.  Everyone  will  do  according  to 
his  means,  and,  for  my  part,  so  long  as  there  is 
wine  in  the  cellar,  and  vegetables  in  the  garden; 
those  who  are  billeted  on  me  shall  find  their 
wine  and  their  soup  ready  for  them  every  day." 

The  hospitable  feeling  once  expressed,  seemed 
to  spring  up  in  all  hearts,  and  everyone  agreed 
that  to  give  the  soldiers  their  wine  and  soup  was 
the  least  that  those  who  could  afford  it  might  do. 


HEGTOB. 


Hector  whispered  to  me  that  Irma  and  her 
father  had  joined  the  group,  and  we  looked  at 
Irma  with  joy  and  congratulation  in  our  faces, 
but  she  did  not  see  us.  She  was  listening  with 
moist  eyes  and  a  bright  spot  of  color  in  each 
cheek.  While  expressions  of  sympathy  were 
arising  on  all  sides,  mixed  with  declarations  that 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Cassagne  the  soldiers 
should  not  want,  Baptiste  the  miller  cantered  up. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  it  is  lucky  for  us  that  the 
splendid  summer  has  ripened  all  the  crops  early. 
We  shall  get  in  the  maize  without  loss.  But,  in 
spite  of  the  fine  weather,  it  is  a  bad  look-out 
for  those  whose  wealth  is  in  vines." 

"  Why  so  } "  asked  one  or  two  whose  vineyards 
were  well  known. 

"  Why  .-* "  Because  if  those  rascals  of  soldiers 
are  to  be  here  in  the  first  week  of  Octobei,  you 
must  begin  to  cut  the  grapes  at  once,  otherwise 
you  will  make  no  wine  this  year." 

"There  is  what  I  said,"  murmured  Marie 
Anna.  "  He  has  some  good  sense,  in  spite  of 
all." 

"  Do  you  suppose  they  will  respect  property.-'" 
Baptiste  went  on.  "  Not  they  ;  they  will  help 
themselves  to  what  they  like.  After  their 
passage  the  gardens  and  vineyards   will  be  as 


HECTOR.  189 


bare  as  my  hand.  This  is  what  comes  of  your 
good-foi  nothing  Republican  government.  With 
all  their  talk  about  peace,  they  bind  on  our  backs 
military  burdens  we  never  had  before.  But  the 
soldiers  whom  they  quarter  on  me  shall  not 
desire  to  return,  I  promise  you  that." 

Baptiste  was  evidently  out  of  temper ;  his 
words  fell  like  a  chill  on  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
little  assembly.  Faces  which  a  minute  before 
had  been  looking  tender  and  generous,  became 
suddenly  careworn  and  hard  again.  People 
turned  somewhat  anxiously  towards  him,  and  no 
one  answered  till  Esquebesse  took  his  pipe  out 
of  his  mouth  and  said  quietly : 

"They  will  not  touch  the  vines.  Government 
has  taken  strong  measures  to  prevent  damages." 

I  learnt  then  how  true  it  is  that  there  are  two 
sides  to  every  question.  Before  Baptiste  came 
up,  everyone  seemed  to  agree  with  Pierre,  and 
to  wish  to  be  generous  to  the  soldiers.  Now 
that  Baptiste  advised  them  to  be  selfish,  a 
number  seemed  suddenly  to  change  round  to 
his  view,  and  to  think  it  best  to  be  selfish,  as  he 
said.     Irma's  father  was  one  of  them. 

"  For  my  part,"  he  said,  "  I  am  of  the  opinion 
of  the  miller.  What  is  happening  to  us  is  a 
misfortune  from  which  we  shall  take  a  loner  time 


igo  UECTOE. 


to  recover.  Why  should  we  stint  our  children 
to  give  wine  and  soup  to  soldiers  ?  Already  to 
have  them  here  is  ruin  enough,  and  as  for  me, 
I  will  give  nothing  but  what  the  law  obliges." 

Irma  flushed,  but  a  woman  who  had  spoken 
of  her  boys  in  the  army,  cried  out : 

"  It  is  all  one.  They  are  ouf  sons,  and  we 
owe  them  something.  Especially  you,  M.  La- 
grace.  You  have  young  sons  ;  their  turn  will 
come,  and  one  day  you  will  be  glad  if  you  can 
think  in  your  heart,  ' £/i,  bien  !  when  I  had  the 
chance,  I  did  what  I  could  for  the  soldiers.' " 

The  discipline  of  the  metairie  would  have 
forbidden  Irma  to  say  a  word  in  answer  to  her 
father,  but  this  woman  seemed  to  express  just 
what  Irma  felt,  for  the  flush  of  vexation  faded 
partially  away,  and  there  came  a  bright  grateful 
look  into  her  eyes. 

"  I  don't  think,  papa,"  she  ventured,  "  that 
Valentine  or  Maurice  will  ever  be  good-for-noth- 
ings or  robbers." 

Her  voice  was  so  low  and  sweet  after  the  loud 
argumentative  tones,  that  all  eyes  turned  towards 
her.  But  her  father  seemed  vexed,  and  answered 
sharply : 

"  Do  me  the  pleasure  to  be  silent.  It  is  not 
for   the    chiliren    to    mix   themselves    up   with 


HECTOR.  191 

affairs  which  concern  their  fathers.  Yes,"  he 
continued  sarcastically,  "  the  young  girls  who 
think  of  nothing  but  dressing  themselves  up 
smart,  and  running  out  to  see  the  grand  parades, 
and  to  hear  the  military  masses,  will  welcome 
the  soldiers,  but  their  parents  have  a  little  more 
foresight.  They  know  what  it  is  to  have  their 
vineyards  stripped,  and  their  poultry  robbed, 
and  their  gardens  ravaged.  They  know  that 
they  will  pay  dearly  for  a  few  grand  sights. 
And  it  wont  be  the  young  girls  who  will  sing, 
either,  after  the  soldiers  are  gone.  Those  who 
respect  themselves  will  remain  close  in  their 
fathers'  houses,  and  will  think  rather  of  the 
misfortune  of  their  parents  than  of  their  own 
pleasure." 

Irma  dropped  her  eyes  quietly  to  her  knitting 
while  her  father  was  speaking,  but  when  he  had 
finished,  and  the  miller  from  his  place  of  eleva- 
tion on  the  horse's  back  called  out : 

"  That's  it.  The  women  should  show  the 
soldiers  we  don't  want  them  in  the  country." 

She  flashed  up  to  him  such  a  glance  of  dislike 
that  Hector  and  I  saw  plainly  she  shared  our 
feelings  against  the  fat  egoist. 

The  arguments  for  and  against  the  soldiers 
could   not  go  on   for  ever.     People  had   to  be 


192  RECTOR. 

moving  home.  So  after  Pierre  and  Esquebesse 
had  said  a  little  more  in  their  favor,  and  the 
miller  a  good  bit  more  against  them,  the  little 
circle  round  the  forge  broke  up,  and  group  after 
group  went  away  through  the  lengthening  shad- 
ows, to  spread  in  their  various  villages  the  great 
news  that  the  soldiers  were  coming. 

As  Irma  and  her  father  were  moving  away, 
we  noticed  with  some  excitement  that  Hector's 
tramp,  who  seemed  to  find  profit  in  passing  up 
and  down  this  particular  road,  had  been  listening 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  little  crowd. 

"  Ah  !  you  are  perfectly  right,"  he  said  to  the 
miller,  who  had  dismounted,  and  was  walking 
beside  Lagrace.  "  You  will  see  queer  things 
'vhen  the  soldiers  are  here.     I  know  them,  I." 

Then  Irma's  repressed  irritation  burst  sud- 
denly out,  and,  turning  upon  him,  she  said  with 
a  sort  of  fury,  before  the  miller  had  time  to 
speak : 

"  What  can  you  know  about  good  people .'' 
You  are  a  scoundrel ;  go  away." 

After  that  she  walked  on  fast  towards  the 
farm  alone,  knitting  swiftly  as  she  went,  with 
the  hot  color  flaming  in  her  cheeks. 

As  for  us,  our  excitement  was  beyond  words. 
After  having  thought  at  first  only  of  Georges, 


HECTOB.  193 

we  had  now  taken  in  the  great  fact  that  in 
another  week  or  two  the  country  would  be 
swarming  with  soldiers :  if  everyone  were  to 
have  them  in  their  houses,  we  also  should  have 
some  at  Salaret,  and,  after  watching  the  last 
group  leave  the  forge,  we  ran  home  up  the  lane, 
bursting  with  anxiety  to  tell  Grand'mere  the 
great  news,  and  to  find  out  how  she  meant  to 
receive  our  soldiers. 
13 


t94  HECTOR. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

L^OR  the  next  few  days  we  could  think  ol 
nothing  else  but  soldiers.  Grand'm^re 
entered  to  a  great  extent  into  our  feelings,  and 
though  she  smiled  at  our  enthusiasm  and  de 
clared  herself  too  old  now  to  be  excited  about 
new  things,  she  patted  my  head  and  said  that 
she  liked  to  see  my  cheeks  burning,  for  generous 
blood  was  easily  stirred  when  it  was  young.  She 
soon  set  our  hearts  at  rest  as  to  the  manner  in 
which  she  meant  to  receive  her  soldiers,  for,  the 
very  first  evening,  when  we  ran  home  fresh  from 
the  discussion  at  the  forge  and  repeated  all  we 
could  remember,  she  said  that  Pierre  and  Esque- 
besse  had  spoken  well,  and  she  had  declared, 
before  Jean  and  Madelon  and  one  or  two  farm 
laborers,  that  any  of  the  metayers  who  wished 
to  obtain  fivor  from  her  would  do  well  to 
receive  the  soldiers  hospitably.  In  the  course 
of  the  next  day,  some  of  the  metayers  came  up 
to  Salaret  to  ask  what  she  thoug-ht  about  cutting 


HECTOR.  19s 


the  grapes,  and  her  answer  to  the  first  made  us 
perfectly  happy.  People  would  do  what  they 
liked,  she  said,  about  their  own  grapes,  but  she 
hoped  that  she  might  never  see  the  day  when 
the  vintage  began  on  her  land  before  the  second 
week  in  October.  In  the  good  old  times  when 
she  was  young,  the  grapes  were  never  cut  till 
the  first  frost  had  touched  them,  and  fires  had 
to  be  lit  in  the  vineyards  to  warm  the  hands  of 
the  grape-cutters.  People  had  grown  soft  since 
then ;  she  gave  in  to  custom  so  far  as  to  let  her 
vintage  begin  in  the  middle  of  October,  and  the 
wine  was  none  the  better  for  it.  A  day  sooner 
it  should  not  begin  if  all  the  armies  in  France 
were  going  to  march  over  her  vineyards.  More- 
over, for  the  benefit  of  such  metayers  as  had 
grapes  of  their  own,  over  which  she  had  no 
control,  she  very  frankly  expressed  her  opinion 
that  those  who  had  not  the  courage  and  good 
faith  to  await  in  patience  the  proper  seasons,  but 
tried  to  snatch  gifts  from  the  hand  of  God  before 
His  own  time  came  for  bestowing  them,  were 
likely  to  suffer  for  their  greediness. 

We  children  remembered  to  have  heard  Pierre 
say  almost  the  same  words  about  Georges'  and 
Trma's  love  affair,  and  hearing  Grand'm^re  say 
them  now,  we  hoped  the  more  for  Irma.     Soeur 


196  HECTOR. 

Amelie  did  not  take  the  same  view  as  Grand'- 
m^re  of  the  soldiers.  It  was  the  duty  of  every- 
one, she  said,  to  receive  them  properly  ;  but  she 
used  to  lament  in  mysterious  half-sentences  the 
terrible  misfortunes  which  the  soldiers  would 
bring  upon  the  country,  the  wickedness  they 
would  introduce,  the  ruin  and  misery  they  would 
leave  behind,  till,  one  day,  when  we  were  all 
standing  at  the  door  of  the  kitchen  after  lessons, 
and  she  had  been  angering  Hector  and  me  by 
talking  as  though  soldiers  were,  one  and  all, 
messengers  of  Satan,  Hector  said  in  his  quiet 
matter-of-fact  way : 

"I  suppose  you  haven't  ever  been  in  love  with 
a  soldier,  have  you,  ma  Soeur  ?  " 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  Mon  Dieu  !  "  exclaimed  Soeui 
Amelie  ;  "  what  questions  to  come  into  a  child's 
mind.  Positively  he  is  possessed.  I,  a  sister  of 
charity,  to But  it  is  frightful!  Did  any- 
one ever  hear  such  things  spoken  of.-*" 

She  took  out  her  handkerchief  and  wiped  her 
face,  and  Grand'mere  said  : 

"  There,  there,  ma  Soeur !  the  child  meant  no 
harm  ;  he  doesn't  understand  these  things." 

Hector  went  stolidly  on  : 

"  Bec'ause,  if  you  had  ever  been  in  love  with 
a  soldier,  you'd  understand  much  better  about 


HECTOR.  197 


them  being  good,  and  you'd  be  longing  for  them 
to  come  too,  and  turning  red,  like  other  people, 
when  you  heard  them  spoken  of,  and  looking  so 
awful  pretty.  Have  you  ever  been  in  love  with 
anyone  ? " 

This  last  question  was  shot  out  suddenly  but 
deliberately,  and  the  effect  upon  Soeur  Amelie 
was  so  dreadful,  that,  in  spite  of  my  anger 
against  her,  I  could  hardly  forgive  Hector  for 
the  irresistible  chuckle  of  laughter  which  burst 
from  him. 

She  literally  gasped  for  breath,  and,  with  both 
hands  up  before  her  withered  face,  she  cried  out, 
"  Oh  !  oh  ! "  in  a  voice  which  did  not  sound  to 
me  like  hers  at  all,  but  like  the  voice  of  someone 
who  had  been  badly  hurt.  The  next  instant  she 
was  all  herself,  shocked  and  astonished,  redden- 
ing, gesticulating,  flapping  the  wings  of  her 
cornette,  as  she  declared  that  that  child  was  a 
"  djemon,  a  true  little  demon;"  but  she  looked 
so  miserably  uncomfortable',  that  Grand'm^re 
said  : 

"  It  is  all  one,  ma  Soeur.  There  is  nothing  to 
agitate  yourself  about  if  in  the  past  you  have 
had  your  experience.  There  are  many  things 
in  life,  and,  with  the  rest,  a  little  love  comes  in 
tjrn  to  all  of  us.  Go  along  out  of  doors  now, 
children,  and  talk  no  more  stupidities. 


198  HECTOR. 

Hector  had  another  burst  of  chuckling  as  we 
went  down  the  lane. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  so  amusing,"  I  said, 
rather  indignantly,  "  I  think  you  hurt  her." 

When  he  saw  I  wasn't  amused  he  stopped 
laughing,  and  said,  "  Why  shouldn't  I  .''  It 
served  her  right  for  saying  nasty  things.  Girls 
always  think  that  they  may  hurt  as  much  as  they 
like,  and  that  it  is  a  great  shame  if  anyone  hurts 
them  back  again." 

Soeur  Amelie  never  abused  the  soldiers  again 
in  Hector's  presence,  but  I  am  sure  she  disliked 
him  all  the  more  from  that  time.  He  said  he 
thought  people  were  silly  who  minded  about 
being  disliked  when  they  wece  able  to  do  the 
things  they  really  wanted  to  do.  It  was  like 
wanting  to  buy  without  paying  the  money.  I 
understand  better  now  what  he  meant,  but  I 
suppose  I  always  was  silly,  for  I  minded  very 
much  not  only  about  being  disliked  myself,  but 
about  him  being  disliked  also. 

That  same  day  Hector  said  he  wanted  to  see 
Baptiste's  mill  at  work,  and  we  went  down  im- 
mediately after  dinner  through  the  woods.  The 
river  wound  past  Lagrace's  metairie,  and  as  we 
went  we  saw  Lagrace  and  his  family  in  the  vine- 
yard cutting  grapes.  Hector  asked  Irma  why 
she  did  it. 


HECTOR.  199 


"  I  obey  my  father,"  she  said,  sadly.  "  We 
are  very  poor,  and  he  is  afraid  because  of  the 
soldiers." 

The  metairie  did  look  poor  with  its  weather- 
stained  walls  and  broken  shutters,  and  patched 
clothes  hanging  out  to  dry  upon  a  line.  We 
were  struck  by  the  contrast  between  it  and  the 
mill,  for  the  miller's  land  came  next  after  La- 
grace's  on  the  river  bank.  The  wheel  was  not 
at  work  when  we  reached  the  mill,  and  the 
stream  spread  out  into  a  clear  full  pond  under 
the  chestnut  trees  above  the  dam.  The  trees 
were  laden  with  fruit  that  year,  the  woods  were 
already  turning  gold,  and  the  red-tiled  mill, 
which  was  reflected  with  them  in  the  clear  still 
water,  seemed  a  rich  and  comfortable  place  to 
live  in. 

Baptiste  looked  like  a  rich  and  comfortable 
miller,  too,  when  we  got  round  to  the  front  of  his 
house  and  saw  him  in  his  dining-room.  It  was  a 
festival  day  apparently  at  the  mill,  for  at  ordi- 
nary times  Baptiste  dined  in  the  kitchen,  and  he 
was  not  alone.  We  saw  through  the  vine-covered 
frame  of  the  open  window  the  round  table  set  in 
the  middle  of  the  low  dining-room  with  its 
dessert  and  wine  bottles.  The  miller,  with  his 
back  to  the  big  side-board,  leaning  forward  on 


200  HECTOR. 

the  table  smoking  a  cigarette,  and  leisurely  stir- 
ring his  cup  of  coffee,  while  on  one  side  of  him 
sat  Marie  Monthez,  and  on  the  other  a  nice- 
looking  woman,  whom  we  instantly  guessed  to 
be  her  mother.  The  smoke  from  his  cigarette 
curled  over  their  heads ;  they  looked  very  much 
at  their  ease.  In  the  kitchen,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  passage,  Marie  Anna  was  clattering  the 
dishes  in  a  way  which  with  Madelon  at  home 
meant  temper. 

We  did  not  wish  to  disturb  the  miller,  so  we 
went  round  to  the  back  and  asked  Marie  Anna 
if  he  were  going  to  work  the  mill  that  day.  She 
didn't  know  anything  about  it,  she  said,  nor 
about  him  either,  it  seemed.  She  used  to  be  of 
opinion  that  he  had  inherited  a  little  common- 
sense  from  his  parents,  but  since  he  had  taken 
to  giving  dinner  parties  in  the  middle  of  the 
week,  and  to  behaving  like  a  young  fool  of 
twenty,  she  found  that  she  had  been  mistaken. 
For  her  part  she  had  had  enough  of  it,  and  if 
things  were  to  be  conducted  like  this,  the  sooner 
she  went  home  to  her  son  the  better. 

She  said  all  this  as  much  to  her  dishes  as  to 
us,  and  Hector,  who  was  anxious  to  find  out 
about  the  mill,  thought  he  would  pacify  her,  I 
suppose,  by  saying : 


HECTOR. 


"  Oh,  well,  when  the  miller  is  married  you  will 
be  able  to  go  home  to  your  son  quite  comforta- 
bly." But  his  remark  had  anything  but  a 
pacifying  effect.  Marie  Anna  dashed  a  plate 
into  the  plate-rack. 

"  When  the  miller  is  married  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
contemptuously.  "  He's  not  married  yet,  and 
won't  be  at  Martinmas  if  he  doesn't  change  his 
tactics,  great  fool.  Not  knowing  what  he  wants. 
Ah  !  if  his  mother  was  here  she'd  soon  bring  him 
to  reason.  Talk  to  me  of  men  !  they  are  all  the 
same.  From  the  day  of  their  birth  to  the  day 
of  their  death  they  must  have  women  to  arrange 
their  affairs.  First  we  must  feed  them,  and  then 
we  must  serve  them,  then  we  musf  nurse  them, 
and  in  the  end  they  generally  have  the  ingrati- 
tude to  die  first,  and  to  leave  us  with  a  coffin  to 
contemplate,  asking  ourselves  if  it  was  all  worth 
while.  I  know  them,  allez ;  I've  seen  them  all 
round." 

Marie  Monthez  opened  the  door  of  the  dining- 
room  opposite,  and  came  into  the  kitchen  as  the 
last  words  were  being  uttered. 

"  What  do  you  say,  foster-mother  .''  "  she  asked 
in  Gascon.  And  we  saw  at  once  that  whoever 
Marie  Anna  was  angry  with,  it  was  not  with 
Marie  Monthez. 


202  HECTOR. 


"  I  say,"  she  replied,  with  as  near  an  approach 
to  good-humor  as  she  often  displayed,  "  that 
those  women  who  are  not  yet  bothered  with  a 
man  to  look  after,  would  do  very  well  to  keep 
their  independence.  If  only  they  knew  what  it 
is,  they  wouldn't  be  in  a  hurry  to  slip  on  their 
wedding  rings.  Some  men  may  have  qualities, 
but  the  foundation  of  them  all  is  the  same, 
egoism,  egoism,  always  egoism.  After  that, 
what's  the  good  of  talking.?  I've  talked  for 
forty  years,  and  I've  never  prevented  a  mar- 
riage that  I  know  of." 

Marie  Monthez  laughed. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  why  .''  "  she  asked  ;  "  it  is 
because  you  speak  to  human  nature,  and  you 
forget  one  half  of  it.  If  men  like  to  receive, 
women  like  also  to  give,  and  everything  arranges 
itself  quite  simply." 

"  Women  like  you,  I  daresay,"  grumbled 
Marie  Anna.  "Not  women  like  me.  I'd  like 
to  take  them  by  the  hair  and  knock  their  heads 
together,  when  I  see  them  imbecile  and  self-glo- 
rious as  they  are.  There,  don't  speak  of  them  ! 
I've  lived  all  my  life  with  a  man  under  my  nose, 
till  I  have  finished  by  having  a  horror  of  the 
whole  lot !  What  do  they  want  now  in  the 
dining-room  .-• " 


HECTOR.  203 


"  They  don't  want  anything,"  said  Marie 
Monthez.  "  But  we  have  sat  there  long  enough, 
and  I  came  out  to  have  a  chat  with  you.  First 
give  me  the  keys,  and  I  will  go  and  fetch  the 
fine  shirts  I  was  mending  the  last  time." 

"  Go  !  go  !  It  is  not  I  who  would  mend  them 
in  your  place,"  muttered  Marie  Anna  as  Marie 
Monthez  mounted  the  stairs,  swinging  the  bunch 
of  keys  on  her  forefinger  as  she  went. 

We  had  been  waiting  all  this  time  near  the 
open  door  of  the  yard,  not  quite  knowing  wheth- 
er to  go  or  stay ;  but  Marie  Anna  did  not  pay 
the  smallest  attention  to  us.  She  set  a  plate 
for  herself  on  the  end  of  the  kitchen  table,  and 
having  taken  a  large  loaf  of  bread  from  the  cup- 
board, and  a  little  red  earthen  pot  from  the  fire, 
she  proceeded  to  eat  her  soup  with  the  utmost 
unconcern.  I  began  to  feel  that  our  attempt  to 
see  the  mill  was  a  failure,  and  I  glanced  at 
Hector  to  see  whether  he  thought  of  retiring, 
but  he  had  pulled  his  beloved  Aviceptologie 
from  his  pocket,  and  was  already  seated  on  the 
doorstep,  reading  with  an  unconcern  quite  equal 
to  that  with  which  Ma"ie  Anna  was  eating  her 
dinner. 

It  was  rather  uncomfortable  to  sit  there  wait- 
ing between  them,  and  I  was  wishing  that  Marie 


204  HECTOR. 

Monthez  would  come  down  again,  when  the  in- 
ner door  of  the  kitchen  opened  and  the  miller 
appeared  looking  very  jovial  and  full  of  dinner. 

"  Marie  Anna,"  he  said,  "  I  would  like,  that  is, 
we  would  like  a  little  glass  of  brandy  after  our 
coffee." 

Marie  Anna  paid  no  attention.  She  did  not 
seem  to  see  him  or  hear  him  till  he  had  repeated- 
his  request.  Then  she  lifted  her  head  from  her 
soup-plate  and  remarked  sharply  that  she  should 
have  thought  two  bottles  of  good  wine  was 
enough  expense  to  make  for  dinner  on  a  work- 
ing day. 

"  I  told  you,  Marie  Anna,  that  I  had  good 
reasons  for  giving  this  dinner,"  he  urged,  with 
the  manner  of  one  who  wishes  to  give  no 
offence.  And  since  brandy  is  asked  for,  you 
would  not  have  me  refuse  it .''  " 

"  Madame  Monthez  has  asked  for  brandy  ?  " 

"  I  don't  say  Madame  Monthez  asked  for  it," 
he  answered,  reddening  like  a  schoolboy  under 
her  sharp  eyes.  "  But  after  all,  the  brandy 
is  mine  ;  I  have  a  right  to  drink  it  if  I  please." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  you  will  do  what  you  please ! 
You  may  use  your  brandy  to  wash  the  clothes 
with,  if  you  like,  and  it  will  be  all  one  to  me. 
Are  your  affairs  my  affairs .-'    Not  at  all !    I  shall 


HECTOR.  205 


soon  have  left  you  to  throw  your  money  out  of 
the  windows  at  your  pleasure.  And  I  promise 
you  that  then  it  won't  be  only  by  these  windows 
it  will  go,"  she  nodded  towards  the  front  of  the 
house,  "but  by  those." 

The  miller  followed  her  hand  with  his  eyes  as 
she  pointed  with  an  expressive  jerk  of  her  thumb 
to  the  windows  of  the  back  kitchen,  and  perhaps 
he  saw  in  his  mind  all  the  old  women  of  the 
neighborhood  coming  in  to  rob  him  when  she 
was  no  longer  there  to  defend  his  substance,  for 
he  said  in  a  very  humble  voice : 

"  It  is  true,  Marie  Anna,  it  is  true.  I  know 
that  if  you  were  not  there  they  would  rob  me  on 
all  sides.  Nevertheless,  we  have  a  good  store 
of  that  '58  brandy  in  the  cellar.  It  is  not  often 
that  I  open  a  bottle,  and  I  would  like  to  complete 
the  dinner." 

Marie  Anna  muttered  something  in  her  plate. 
I  did  not  hear  it.  He  did  apparently,  for  he  lost 
patience,  and  said,  with  his  red  face  growing 
redder : 

"  Enfin,  Marie  Anna,  I  am  the  master  Tiere, 
and  I  have  the  right  to  take  my  ease  when  I 
like." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  are  the  master  here ! "  she 
answered  sarcastically.     And  as  if    that  state- 


2o6  HECTOR. 

ment  had  made  an  end  of  the  matter,  she  took 
up  her  spoon  and  applied  herself  wholly  to  her 
soup. 

"  You  have  the  keys  ?  "  he  asked,  after  waiting 
uneasily  for  a  minute. 

"No,  I  have  not." 

"  Well !  you  will  bring  the  brandy  ?  "  and, 
glad  to  escape,  he  retreated  towards  the  door. 

But  at  this  Marie  Anna  raised  her  head  indig- 
nantly. 

"Very  certainly  I  will  not  bring  the  brandy  !" 
she  exclaimed.  "What!"  in  addition  to  all  my 
other  work,  I  am  to  trudge  now  up  and  down  to 
the  cellar  for  you.  Since  when  have  you  become 
such  a  fine  gentleman  that  you  cannot  enter 
your  own  cellar  ?  Ah  !  if  your  parents  could 
see  you,  they  would  say  truly  it  was  worth  while 
to  bring  up  a  son  with  order  and  common-sense. 
Go  your  own  way !  Go  your  own  way !  There 
will  soon  be  no  cellar  for  you  to  enter." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  proceeded  to  wash 
her  plate  and  glass  and  spoon  at  the  sink. 

"A  thousand  pests  be  upon  women.  How 
does  she  expect  me  to  go  to  the  cellar  when  she 
won't  give  me  the  keys  ! "  the  miller  muttered 
half  under  his  breath.  But  I  don't  think  Marie 
Anna  heard  that,  as  she  had  grown  a  little  deaf 


HECTOR.  207 


with  increasing  age ;  and  though  he  abused  her 
he  knew,  I  suppose,  that  she  did  not  mean  to  let 
him  have  what  he  wanted,  and  that  he  might  as 
well  give  in  soon  as  late,  for  aloud  he  only  said  : 

"  Oh,  well,  Marie  Anna,  perhaps  you  are 
right.  Brandy  is  not  necessary  after  dinner, 
and  it  is  probable  that  Madame  Monthez  does 
not  care  for  it.  She  is  very  sober  in  eating  and 
drinking." 

He  gave  one  rueful  glance  at  the  cellar-door, 
and  with  disappointment  spreading  on  his  broad 
red  face,  he  went  away, 

I  wondered  for  a  moment  if  Marie  Anna  was 
going  to  relent  and  call  him  back.  Far  from 
doing  anything  of  the  sort,  she  remarked  to  her 
plates  as  the  door  closed  after  him : 

"Quite  the  contrary!  Madame  Monthez  likes 
a  little  glass  of  cognac  after  her  coffee  better 
than  most  people.  But  it  is  not  I  who  will  help 
to  soften  her  for  your  silly  plans.  May  she  keep 
some  common-sense,  I  ask  no  more." 

Hector  had  looked  up  from  his  book  while 
this  little  scene  was  taking  place,  and  at  the 
sight  of  Marie  Anna  with  her  sharp  hooked 
nose  and  little  withered  bare  arms,  victoriously 
perched  on  a  stool  by  the  sink,  while  the  big 
miller  slunk  shamefaced  away,  he  whispered  to 


2o8  HECTOR. 


me  that  she  was  like  one  of  the  hens  at  home 
driving  our  big  dog  Marius  out  of  the  yard. 
Marie  Monthez  came  down  again  while  we  were 
both  laughing.  She  asked  what  was  amusing 
us,  and  Hector,  with  the  perfect  frankness  and 
simplicity  he  always  showed  towards  people 
whom  he  liked,  told  her  at  once  what  it  was.  I 
was  afraid  she  might  be  vexed,  but  his  descrip- 
tion of  the  scene  made  her  laugh  too. 

"  Poor  M.  Baptiste,"  she  said  ;  "people  laugh 
at  him,  and  Marie  Anna  illtreats  him  shamefully, 
but  he  is  good  underneath,  and  if  he  fell  into 
good  hands,  he  would  astonish  everyone  by  all 
he  would  do.  It  was  not  amiable  of  you  to 
refuse  him  his  brandy,"  she  added  to  Marie 
Anna,  "  and  if  you  play  him  such  tricks,  it  is  not 
astonishing  that  he  should  become  egoist  to 
defend  himself." 

Nevertheless,  she  did  not  attempt  to  get  the 
brandy  for  him,  but  settled  down  quietly  to  her 
work,  and  we  children,  hoping  that  without 
brandy  there  was  more  chance  of  the  miller 
returning  to  his  work  that  day,  sauntered  off  to 
inspect  as  we  could  the  outside  of  the  mill. 


UECTOB.  209 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

TT  was  uninteresting  to  wander  about  looking 
at  the  outside  of  a  mill  which  was  not  at 
work,  and,  when  Hector  had  examined  the 
wheel,  and  climbed  on  the  gate  which  shut  the 
water  off,  and  looked  long  enough  down  the  nar- 
row channel  where,  when  the  mill  was  working, 
the  now  quiet  water  rushed  and  foamed,  we 
sauntered  into  the  chestnut  woods  to  peer  about 
after  our  usual  fashion. 

The  bracken  was  high  under  the  trees,  and 
here  and  there  I  remember  a  tall  rose-colored 
fox-glove  caught  the  light,  and  seemed  to  glow 
in  the  green  gold  haze  which  the  strong  after- 
noon sun  spread  round  us  through  the  woods. 
There  were  not  many  birds,  but  the  squirrels 
were  at  work  in  the  branches  of  the  beech  and 
chestnut  trees,  and  we  were  soon  so  interested 
in  watching  them  and  in  racing  along  the  ground 
with  our  heads  in  the  air  trying  to  keep  pace 
with  their  flying  progress  through  the  tree-tops. 


2XO  HECTOR- 

that  we  took  very  little  heed  of  time,  and  would 
have  entirely  forgotten  the  mill  and  the  miller, 
had  we  not,  later  in  the  afternoon,  seen  the  mil- 
ler walking  in  the  wood. 

He  was  talking  to  somebody,  and,  to  our  very 
great  surprise,  we  saw,  as  we  drew  nearer,  that 
that  somebody  was  Hector's  tramp.  Just  as  we 
came  in  sight,  the  miller  gave  him  a  piece  of 
money,  and  said  : 

"  And  as  much  more  if  you  succeed  in  taking 
it.  I  will  not  touch  it  myself, — I  don't  want  it, 
— only  there  is  no  harm  in  trying  all  means ; 
and  before  I  pay  you,  you  understand  that  I 
must  see  it." 

"  Be  easy,"  said  the  tramp  ;  and  at  that  mo- 
ment, the  miller  caught  sight  of  us. 

We  were  staring  at  him  in  such  a  rude,  curi- 
ous way,  that  I  didn't  wonder  he  looked  vexed, 
but  he  seemed  really,  as  Marie  Monthez  said, 
better  than  people  thought  him,  for  he  only 
spoke  a  little  more  sharply  to  the  tramp  as  he 
bid  him  be  off  now,  and  understand  that  that 
was  the  last  money  he  would  get  for  a  long  time, 
and  to  us  he  said  that  he  understood  we  wanted 
to  see  the  mill  at  work,  and  if  we  liked  he  would 
show  it  to  us  now — he  was  going^in  to  turn  the 
water  on. 


HECTOR.  211 

We  had  given  up  hoping  to  see  the  mill  that 
afternoon,  and  this  unexpected  proposal  com- 
pletely put  the  tramp  out  of  our  minds.  We 
went  back  with  delight  by  Baptiste's  side,  and 
in  the  powdery  rooms  and  white  floured  stair- 
cases of  the  mill  we  forgot  even  our  objections 
to  the  miller  himself. 

Once  the  mill  was  at  work,  he  said,  he  would 
have  to  attend  to  his  business,  but  he  showed  us 
over  everything  before  he  turned  the  water  on, 
and  then  he  took  us  into  a  little  room  above  the 
mill  wheel,  from  the  windows  of  which  he  told 
us  to  watch  the  rush  of  the  water.  It  had  one 
window  nearly  over  the  wheel,  and  another  from 
which  we  could  look  across  the  mill-pond  up  the 
river.  Some  children  were  throwing  sticks  into 
a  chestnut  tree  on  the  right  hand  shore  of  the 
mill-pond  ;  and  we  recognized  the  Baptiste  that 
we  knew  in  the  displeasure  with  which  the  mil- 
ler caught  sight  of  them.  He  forgot  for  a 
moment  both  us  and  the  mill,  and  exclaimed 
angrily : 

"What  are  those  •  children  doing  there? 
They  seem  to  be  taking  strange  liberties  with 
my  trees ! " 

They  were  indeed  taking  strange  liberties,  for 
as  stick  after  stick    flew   up  into  the  tree,  the 


212  HECTOR. 

half-ripe  chestnuts  pattered  down  amid  the  cries 
of  delight  from  the  children,  and  as  each  bright 
splash  announced  a  bunch  of  nuts  in  the  water, 
there  was  a  rush  to  the  edge  of  the  pond  and  an 
outstretching  of  hands  and  sticks  to  save  it,  a 
holding  on  of  some  to  the  pinafores  of  others, 
and  shouts  of  triumph  over  every  rescue.  It 
was  evident  that  no  thought  of  concealment 
spoilt  the  fun,  and  the  joyous  excitement  was  so 
infectious  that  Hector  looked  up  with  sparkling 
eyes,  expecting  the  miller  himself  to  sympathise 
when  five  little  blue-pinafored  figures  formed 
themselves  into  a  chain,  and  five  little  round 
faces  glowed  with  interest  to  see  the  foremost 
pair  of  arms  stretched  to  their  furthest  in  the 
endeavor  to  fish  up  a  fine  bunch  of  prickly  husks 
which  the  current  was  carrying  slowly  and 
surely  out  of  reach.  The  miller  was  not  to  be 
touched  with  sympathy  of  that  kind. 

"They  are  the  little  Lagraces,"  he  said,  in  the 
worried  tone  of  one  who  announces  a  misfor- 
tune. "  It  is  Marie  Anna  who  will  soap  their 
heads  if  she  catches  them." 

He  left  us  as  he  spoke,  but  we  were  too  much 
interested  in  the  chestnut-gathering  to  care  for 
the  moment  about  seeing  the  mill-wheel  turn. 
The  bunch  of  prickly  husks  could  not  be  saved. 


HECTOR.  213 


It  was  abandoned  to  the  river,  but  with  renewed 
energy  a  shower  of  sticks  was  flung  again  into 
the  chestnut-tree,  Down  came  the  nuts  on 
every  side,  the  riper  ones  bursting  as  they  fell, 
and  making  with  their  snow-white  linings  bright 
points  of  light  upon  the  ground.  The  children 
ran  hither  and  thither  to  gather  the  treasure, 
and  Hector  and  I  were  laughing  to  see  them, 
almost  as  merrily  as  they  laughed,  when  a  great 
shower  of  nuts  fell  into  the  water.  There  was 
a  leaping  of  bright  drops  in  the  sun,  a  widening 
of  glassy  circles  on  the  water,  a  burst  of  joyous 
shouts  from  the  children,  a  confused  rush  to  the 
riverside,  then  suddenly  a  heavy  plash,  and  ail 
the  mixed  sounds  joined  in  one  loud  cry  of  fear 
and  grief. 

I  scarcely  saw  what  had  happened.  One  of 
the  smallest  had  fallen  in.  The  others,  in  a 
miserable  group,  were  stretching  vainly  the  lit- 
tle hands  and  sticks  which  a  moment  before 
had  proved  too  short  to  secure  the  floating 
chestnuts. 

"  Oh,  and  the  water's  deep,"  I  cried,  "  the 
water's  deep." 

Hector  was  already  standing  on  the  window- 
sill,  his  pinafore  and  coat  thrown  off. 

"  Tell  them  not  to  turn  on  the  water,"  he  said. 


214  HECTOR. 


And  before  I  knew  what  he  was  going  to  do, 
there  was  another  splash  on  our  side  of  the  pond. 
I  thought  Hector  too  would  die  ;  the  mill  seemed 
to  rock  with  me,  the  sky  and  the  river  and  the 
trees  all  mixed  and  whirled  before  my  eyes. 
The  next  instant  his  head  came  up  above  the 
water.  I  saw  the  sunlight  on  his  face  as  he 
struck  out  with  steady  strokes  for  the  opposite 
shore.  I  understood  that  he  knew  how  to  swim, 
and  I  never  shall  forget  the  feeling  of  faith  I 
had  suddenly  in  his  strength. 

I  shouted  with  all  my  force  across  the  pond  to 
the  other  children. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid.  He  will  save  her."  Then, 
without  a  moment's  delay,  I  ran  to  stop,  as  he 
had  bid  me,  the  turning  on  of  the  water.  The 
miller  had  shown  us  on  the  way  up  the  place 
where  he  stood  to  turn  the  water  on.  I  made 
myself  remember  it  as  I  ran  down  the  little 
stairs,  and  I  reached  the  spot  just  in  time  to  put 
my  hand  on  the  arm  of  the  miller's  man,  who 
was  going  to  work. 

I  told  him  what  had  happened.  I  asked  where 
the  miller  was.  He  said  the  miller  had  just 
gone  up  round  the  pond.  Then  he  seized  a  rope 
that  was  lying  at  hand,  and  we  both  ran  out 
over  the  little  bridge,  and  as  fast  as  we  could  go 
in  the  direction  of  the  chestnut  tree. 


HECTOR.  215 

But  even  to  run  as  we  did  through  the  mill 
garden  and  along  the  bank  took  a  long  time. 
Before  we  reached  the  chestnut  tree  we  were  no 
longer  needed,  for  as  we  mounted  the  bit  of 
rising  ground  which  led  to  it,  we  saw  Hector 
already  on  the  bank  sturdily  running  in  the 
direction  of  the  mill,  the  water  pouring  in  little 
streams  from  his  shirt  and  trousers,  but  a  drip- 
ping child  in  his  arms,  and  the  group  of  brothers 
and  sisters,  silent  and  awe -stricken,  trotting 
after  him.  It  was  little  Jeanne  Lagrace  whom 
he  had  saved.  She  was  insensible,  and  I  think 
that  even  then  he  was  not  sure  that  he  had  saved 
her,  for  he  took  no  notice  of  anything,  and  did 
not  seem  to  see  us  or  to  hear  our  voices  as  he 
hurried  on  towards  the  house  with  his  white 
face  set  strong  and  firm  like  a  man's. 

We  had  not  seen  the  miller.  He  met  us 
almost  at  the  threshold. 

"  What  is  this  }  "  he  cried  ;  "  what  is  this  ? 
How  wet  you  are  ! "  And  then,  filling  up  the 
doorway  with  his  burly  form,  "  Don't  go  in,  you 
will  make  a  mess,  and  Marie  Anna  will  be 
furious." 

We  could  not  pass  him,  and  Hector  spoke  for 
the  first  time  : 

"  Bother  Marie  Anna,  and  you  too.  Stand 
aside !  " 


2i6  EECTOJx. 

The  order  was  given  with  such  decision  that 
Baptiste  did  stand  aside,  and  reddening  and  pro- 
testing followed  us  through  the  dining-room,  as 
Hector  walked  on  without  hesitation  into  the 
guest-chamber  of  the  mill.  There  on  the  best 
bed  in  the  middle  of  the  best  coverlet  he  laid  the 
wet  unconscious  child,  and  while  the  miller  tried 
in  vain  to  defend  himself  from  the  sarcasms  of 
Marie  Anna,  who  came  from  the  kitchen  at  the 
noise,  Hector  appealed  to  Marie  Monthez  and 
her  mother  to  do  what  should  be  done.  They 
quickly  undressed  little  Jeanne,  and  though 
Marie  Anna  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of 
scolding  the  miller,  all  the  time  she  too  was 
active  in  help.  The  brandy  which  had  been 
refused  to  Baptiste  was  produced  in  a  moment, 
hot  blankets  were  made  ready,  and  before  long 
little  Jeanne,  warm  and  comfortable  in  bed, 
opened  her  eyes,  and  on  seeing  so  many  strange 
faces  began  to  cry. 

Hector  had  stood  silent  and  watchful  all  this 
time  at  the  bottom  of  the  bed,  having  pulled  off 
his  wet  stockings,  and  pooh-poohed  the  notion 
of  changing  anything  else.     Now  he  said  : 

"Shall  I  fetch  Irma.'" 

It  was  the  most  natural  thing  to  do,  but  his 
words    seemed   to    embarrass    everybody.     The 


HECTOR.  217 


miller  and  Madame  Monthez  looked  uncomfort- 
able ;  Marie  Anna  lifted  up  her  head  and  sniffed 
audibly. 

It  was  Marie  Monthez  who  said,  as  she  raised 
herself  from  the  pillow  where  she  had  bent  to 
comfort  Jeanne : 

"  Yes,  fetch  Irma.  She  will  soon  console  the 
little  one."  And  in  the  very  quiet  way  she  said 
it  and  bent  again  over  the  child,  I  could  see 
that  there  was  something  strange. 

Hector  was  off  like  a  swallow  with  two  of  the 
little  Lagraces  at  his  heels.  Marie  Anna 
wanted  to  turn  out  the  other  two  also,  but 
Marie  Monthez  again  interfered  : 

"  No,  let  them  stay,  Marie  Anna ;  they  are 
doing  no  harm." 

"And  my  floor  that  I  washed  yesterday," 
grumbled  Marie  Anna  ;  "  it  might  be  a  maize 
field.    Look  at  the  dirt;  and  water  everywhere!" 

But  Marie  Monthez  did  not  seem  to  care. 
She  only  asked  Marie  Anna  to  go  and  make 
some  broth  for  Jeanne. 

Marie  Anna  went  muttering  to  the  kitchen, 
and  if  the  broth  was  good  in  proportion  to  the 
noise  she  made  with  the  pots  while  she  prepared 
it,  it  must  have  been  very  good  indeed.  The 
house    rans:    to    the    sounding:    blows    of    iron 


2iS  HECTOR. 

kettles  on  the  kitchen  hearth,  for  in  our  room 
there  was  absolute  silence.  Madame  Monthez, 
having  put  the  room  tidy,  sat  knitting  in  the 
armchair ;  the  miller  stood  and  looked  out  of 
the  window  with  the  light  shining  through  his 
great  ears,  so  that  they  glowed  like  poppies  on 
either  side  of  his  head.  Marie  Monthez  bent 
down  again  till  her  cheek  touched  little  Jeanne's 
upon  the  pillow. 

The  grown-up  people  being  so  quiet,  we 
children  did  not  dare  to  move,  and  the  time 
seemed  very  long  to  me  before  a  sound  of 
footsteps  in  the  passage  announced  Hector's 
return.  The  miller  turned  round  from  the 
window,  and  the  next  moment  Irma  was  on  the 
threshold  of  the  bedroom. 

She  stood  for  one  moment,  flushed,  hesita- 
ting,— looking,  I  thought,  as  though  she  did  not 
like  to  come.  The  next,  little  Jeanne  had  seen 
her,  and  held  out  her  arms,  and  Irma  was  at  the 
bedside  hugging  the  child  tight  and  close  to  her 
breast. 

"  Poor  little  thing,"  she  murmured,  "you  were 
terribly  frightened.  It  is  all  one, —  I  love  you 
well, —  and  now  you  are  safe,  safe  in  Irma's 
arms." 

"  It  doesn't  hurt  now,"  little  Jeanne  said, 
patting  Irma's  cheeks    contentedly,   but  as  the 


HECTOR.  219 

clasp  of  Irma's  arms  was  loosened,  she  clung  to 
her  imploring,  "  You  won't  go  away.  Take  me 
home,  take  me  home,  too ;  I  don't  want  to  stay 
here." 

Tears  and  sobs  came  again.  It  seemed  that 
the  worst  part  of  the  fright  to  the  little  shy 
creature  was  the  finding  herself  suddenly  in  a 
strange  room,  full  of  strange  people,  and  Irma, 
as  she  comforted  her,  made  her  excuses. 

"  You  must  forgive  her,"  she  said,  looking  for 
the  first  time  at  the  miller  and  Madame  Monthez. 
"  She  is  too  young  to  understand  that  she  owes 
you  gratitude.  I  thank  you  very  much  for  all 
you  have  done.  If  my  father  were  here,  he 
would  thank  you  better."  She  held  herself 
straight  and  tall  while  she  spoke,  and  kept  the 
child  clasped  close  against  her.  I  could  not 
think  what  was  the  matter,  but  somehow  she  did 
not  look  to  me  like  the  Irma  who  came  to  fetch 
the  milk  every  day. 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  serve  you  with  my 
house,"  the  miller  said ;  and  when  I  remem- 
bered that  he  had  wanted  to  keep  us  out,  and 
that  he  hadn't  done  anything  at  all  for  little 
Jeanne,  I  thought  that  he  need  not  have  been 
in  such  a  hurry  to  take  her  thanks  for  himself. 
"  Also,  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  serve  you 
now  if  I  can  do  anything  for  you." 


220  HECTOR. 

"Thank  you,  M.  Baptiste,  I  need  nothing." 

The  miller  was  gazing  at  Irma  stupid  and 
open-mouthed.  She  had  run  down  with  Hector 
just  as  she  was,  in  her  short  brown  working 
dress,  with  the  sleeves  rolled  up  to  the  shoulders. 
The  dress  was  a  little  open  at  the  throat  on 
account  of  the  heat,  and  under  the  gold-colored 
handkerchief  which  she  wore  twisted  round  her 
head,  her  hair  had  slipped  in  dark  coils  upon  her 
neck.  Jeanne  had  nothing  on  at  all  but  one 
very  small  white  garment,  and,  as  Irma  stood 
there  by  the  dull  green  hangings  of  the  bed 
with  the  child  in  her  arms,  she  made  me  think 
suddenly  of  a  picture  that  hangs  over  the  altar 
in  the  lady  chapel  at  Cassagne.  I  don't  know  if 
the  miller  felt  the  same  strange  sort  of  respect 
for  her  that  I  felt ;  Marie  Monthez  thought  her 
beautiful  I  am  sure,  for  she  sat  looking  at  her 
steadily  for  a  long  time  before  she  rose  from  her 
seat  in  the  shadow  of  the  curtain  and  said,  in 
her  sweet,  quiet  voice  : 

"  You  would  like  to  take  her  away ;  I  will  go 
and  see  if  her  clothes  are  dry." 

There  seemed  nothing  in  that  to  agitate  Irma, 
but  her  color  suddenly  came  and  went.  She 
seemed  to  have  difificulty  in  forcing  herself  to 
speak,  and  before  she  had  uttered  a  husky 
"Thank  you,"  Marie  Monthez  had  left  the  room. 


HECTOB.  221 

The  clothes  took  a  longer  time  to  fetch  than 
the  short  journey  to  the  kitchen  made  at  all 
necessary,  but  Marie  Monthez  came  back  pres- 
ently with  the  little  bundle  over  her  arm. 

"Shall  I  help  you?"  she  said  to  Irma;  and 
they  dressed  little  Jeanne  between  them,  neither 
of  them  speaking,  but  their  hands  crossing  and 
touching  sometimes  as  they,  met  at  the  fastening 
of  the  tiny  garments. 

As  they  occupied  themselves  so,  it  seemed  to 
me  that  the  strange  look  went  from'  Irma's  face, 
and  she  became  more  like  her  everyday  self. 

Madame  Monthez  went  out  of  the  room. 

The  miller  began  somewhat  noisily  to  open 
and  shut  the  lattice  window  which  did  not  quite 
fit  its  frame,  and  under  cover  of  the  slight  noise, 
Marie  Monthez  bent  towards  Irma  and  said  : 

"  Will  you  trust  me .''  I  would  help  you  if  I 
could." 

Irma  raised  her  eyes  to  Marie  Monthez's  face, 
and  replied,  with  a  forlorn  note  in  her  voice 
which  sounded  all  the  sadder  because  it  was  so 
quiet : 

"  I  dare  not  trust  anyone.  It  seems  to  me 
that  all  the  world  is  against  me  now." 

Jeanne's  dressing  was  finished,  and  she  turned 
and  put  her  arms  round  Irma's  neck,  whispering: 

"  Let  us  £!"o  hunic." 


UECTOB. 


"  The  children  at  least  love  you  tenderly," 
Marie  Monthez  said. 

"  Ah,  yes !  and  that  is  the  worst.  Without 
that  I  should  have  strength," 

The  miller  ceased  fidgeting  with  the  window, 
and  came  forward. 

Irma  took  Jeanne  in  her  arms,  thanked  him 
briefly  once  more  for  his  hospitality,  wished 
good-day  to  Marie  and  Madame  Monthez,  and, 
with  the  four  little  brothers  clinging  to  her 
skirts,  passed  out  into  the  sunshine.  We  stood 
and  watched  her  till  a  turn  in  the  path  hid  her 
from  our  view.  Ten  minutes  after  we  were 
running  home,  and,  as  we  passed  the  chestnut 
tree,  we  saw  the  miller  with  a  broom  in  his  hand 
sweeping  chestnuts  and  leaves  and  branches  all 
into  the  river,  while  he  cast,  from  time  to  time,  a 
fearful  glance  towards  the  house. 

"  He !  "  he  called  to  us ;  "  You  saw  Marie 
Anna  as  you  left  the  house." 

"Yes,"  Hector  answered,  "she  seemed  to  be 
looking  for  you." 

The  miller  re-applied  himself  with  vigorous 
strokes  to  his  sweeping. 

"  Well,  let  her  come  ;  all  will  be  in  order  here 
before  she  arrives.  She  will  find  nothing  to 
say," 


HECTOR,  223 


CHAPTER    XV. 

/^N  the  following  Monday  the  maire  came 
out  to  Salaret  to  look  at  our  accommo- 
dation, and  it  was  decided  that  we  were  to  have 
thirty-five  soldiers  and  three  officers.  It  was 
settled,  too,  to  our  unbounded  delight,  that  we 
were  to  have  chasseurs-a-pied  whenever  they 
came. 

It  was  still  possible  that  Georges  might  not 
come  with  his  regiment,  and  we  remembered 
well  that  he  had  promised  in  that  case  to  write 
to  his  uncle  Pierre,  who  was  to  let  Irma  know. 
We,  therefore,  watched  the  daily  postman  with 
the  greatest  interest. 

One  day,  as  we  were  standing  in  the  porch, 
we  saw  the  postman  bring  a  letter  for  Pierre, 
and  put  it  down  as  usual  on  the  bench  outside 
the  forge,  and  our  hearts  sank  into  our  shoes, 
but  when  we  raced  down  to  Pierre  and  uncere- 
moniously asked  him  if  he  had  had  news  from 
Georges,  he  made  us  ha[)py  again  by  the  bright- 


224  HECTOB 

ness  of  his  "  Not  a  word,"  and  after  this  we 
had  no  more  scares.  The  postman  never  even 
stopped  again  at  the  forge ;  and  between  the 
thought  of  Irma's  happiness  in  seeing  Georges, 
and  our  own  delight  at  the  prospect  of  the 
soldiers,  we  felt  ourselves  to  be  almost  bursting 
with  happiness  as  the  first  day  of  the  occupation 
drew  near. 

The  first  real  sign  we  saw  of  the  coming  of 
the  soldiers  was  the  arrival  of  their  bread. 
Hector  and  I  saw  it  pass  one  day  in  open 
wagon-loads  along  the  road  to  Cassagne.  The 
afternoon  happened  to  be  rainy,  I  remember, 
and  we  thought  how  nasty  the  bread  would  be 
before  the  soldiers  got  it;  but  the  quantity  of  it 
astounded  us ;  it  helped  us  to  realize  what 
numbers  of  men  were  coming,  and  we  had  so 
much  to  do  with  our  own  preparations  that,  in 
spite  of  the  indignation  expressed  by  Esque- 
besse  and  Pierre  at  the  sight  of  so  much  good 
food  spoiled,  we  had  no  time  left  to  criticise  the 
preparations  of  the  government. 

Every  spare  bed  in  the  house  was  needed  for 
the  officers,  and  Grand'm^re  had  decided  to  put 
her  soldiers  into  the  big  coach-house  and  the 
laundry  adjoining  it ;  in  addition,  therefore,  to 
our  other   pleasures,    we  children    had    all    the 


HECTOR.  22  c 


delight  of  seeing  the  household  turned  upside 
down,  and  we  worked  with  a  will  wherever  wt 
were  allowed  to  show  ourselves.  The  carriage 
had  to  be  taken  out  of  the  coach-house  and  pul 
for  shelter  under  the  cart-shed,  so  had  the  great 
coach  which  had  stood  there,  I  believe,  since 
the  time  of  Grand'mere's  grandfather,  and  it  was 
no  trifle  to  move.  I  see  Hector  still  in  his 
shirt  sleeves,  his  face  flushed  with  unwonted 
exertion,  running  under  Jean's  orders  from 
wheel  to  wheel  and  shoving  with  all  his  might, 
while  the  heavy  old  vehicle  rocked  on  its  straps. 

Grand'mere  all  the  time  was  everywhere, 
looking  after  Madelon,  looking  after  us,  and 
seeing  also  to  the  farm.  Her  wooden  shoes 
clattered  as  she  came  and  went,  and  whenever 
we  wanted  an  order  or  direction,  she  was  there 
with  her  mouth  set  firm  and  her  little  eyes 
bright  and  soft. 

"  That's  it,  my  children.  Work  well ! "  she 
said  from  time  to  time.  "  Poor  fellows,  they  will 
be  tired  when  they  arrive  here,  and  since  they 
fight  for  us  it  is  but  just  we  should  help  them  a 
little." 

When  we  had  finished  all  she  had  told  us  to 
do,  she  came  herself  and  drove  nails  into  the 
walls,  and    hung  up   half-a-dozen    clean    coarse 

IS 


226  nSCTOR. 

towels,  and  then  when  all  was  ready  in  the 
house  and  out,  and  the  yard  was  full  of  the 
delicious  fragrance  of  the  coffee  Madelon  was 
roasting  for  the  officers  on  the  kitchen  doorstep, 
Grand'mere  took  her  big  bunch  of  keys  from 
her  belt,  and  bid  us  go  down  with  her  to  the 
cellar  to  carry  up  the  wine  for  the  soldiers. 

"  Eighteen  bottles  !  "  Madelon  counted,  as  we 
made  our  last  journey  across  the  yard.  "  Eigh- 
teen bottles  a  day  every  day  the  soldiers  are 
here,  without  counting  the  cognac  for  the  officers. 
That'll  make  a  fine  hole  in  the  cellar." 

Grand'mere  was  following  us,  and  heard  what 
Madelon  said. 

She  paused  opposite  the  open  gateway  and 
pointed  to  the  vineyards,  which  lay  stretched 
out  golden  jn  the  evening  sun. 

"  The  good  God  does  not  courrt  the  grapes  he 
gives  us,"  she  said,  "  so  what  need  have  you, 
Madelon,  to  count  the  wine  we  give  the  soldiers." 

It  was  not  only  in  our  house.  All  over  the 
country  there  was  preparation  and  bustle  and 
merriment,  as  we  learnt  from  Pierre  and  Esque- 
besse  and  Dr,  Charles  ;  and  next  day  the  soldiers 
came.  Hector  and  I  knew  that  they  were  to 
be  marched  into  Ste.  Marie  les  Bains,  about  two 
kilometres  off,  and  there  dismissed  to  find  their 


HECTOB.  227 

lodgings  as  they  could,  but  no  hour  had  been 
named  for  their  arrival.  We  had  been  expecting 
them  all  day,  and  from  early  morning  we  had 
spent  every  spare  moment  we  could  get  on  the 
mound  beneath  the  cross,  looking  eagerly  along 
the  road  in  the  direction  of  Ste.  Marie.  Soeur 
Am^lie  spoke  to  us  seriously  on  the  folly  of 
allowing  our  minds  to  be  distracted  by  worldly 
excitement,  but  we  paid  no  attention,  and  found 
it  impossible  to  conceal  our'delight  even  from 
her. 

Rut  we  strained  our  eyes  in  vain  along  the 
hot  white  road  till  somewhere  near  five  o'clock, 
when  at  last  a  cloud  of  dust  appeared  on  the  top 
of  the  nearest  rising.  The  low  rays  of  the 
afternoon  sun  made  the  dust  seem  like  a  golden 
halo,  and  through  the  gold  the  bright  blades  of 
bayonets  flashed  in  sparkling  points.  That  was 
all  we  could  see  at  first,  for  the  dust  was  so  thick 
we  could  not  make  out  either  men  or  uniforms, 
but  as  they  came  nearer  we  could  see  a  number 
of  infantry  surrounding  a  couple  of  country 
wagons,  which  the  drivers  had  good-naturedly 
put  at  the  disposal  of  the  tired  soldiers.  There 
were  no  chasseurs-a-pied,  only  common  soldiers 
of  the  line,  with  their  long  blue  coats  buttoned 
up    at    the    corners,    their    loose    red    trousers 


228  "     HECTOR. 

covered  with  dust,  and  their  bodies  bent  slightly 
forward  under  the  heavy  loads  they  bore.  They 
■were  not  the  grand  bearded  men  we  had  pictured 
to  ourselves,  with  bronzed  foreheads,  marching 
gloriously  as  if  to  conquer  the  world.  Most  of 
them  were  young  like  Georges,  their  faces  were 
white  and  dragged  and  stained  as  with  dirt  and 
gunpowder,  their  lips  were  parched  and  swollen. 
Instead  of  the  joy  and  triumph  we  had  expected, 
Hector  and  I  felt  a  shock  of  pity.  The  cross 
roads  by  which  we  stood  were  the  first  that  had 
been  passed  on  the  road  from  Ste.  Marie,  so  the 
soldiers  were  in  considerable  numbers  as  they 
had  left  the  village,  but  they  were  not  moving  in 
any  regular  order,  and  when  they  saw  people 
gathered  together  at  the  cross,  there  was  a 
hoarse  demand  as  if  from  one  throat  for  the  way 
to  the  nearest  spring.  Many  of  them  thrust  out 
at  the  same  time  bits  of  white  paper  which  con- 
tained their  lodging  orders.  But  no  one  seemed 
to  think  of  his  quarters.  Water,  water  was  all 
they  wished  for. 

"  Ah,  unfortunates ! "  cried  a  sympathetic 
woman  near  us  ;  "  you,  you  look  half  starved  ! " 

"  We  are  dying  of  thirst,"  we  heard  a  soldier 
say.  "  We  have  marched  forty  kilometres  in 
the  sun  and  the  dust  to-day,  and  we  have  had 


HECTOR.  229 

nothing  yet  to  eat  except  the  dry  bread  we  had 
in  our  pockets." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  murmur  of  pity  which 
rose  around  them.  It  seemed  such  a  gentle 
sound  to  come  from  the  rough  peasant  throats, 
and  from  that  moment,  instead  of  any  more 
doubt  or  fear,  everyone  seemed  only  anxious  to 
get  his  soldiers  and  to  comfort  them. 

"  This  way  !  this  way  !  "  we  heard  on  all  sides 
as  the  billeting  papers  were  made  out.  "  You 
are  for  me.  A  little  courage,  it  is  not  far,  and 
there  is  good  wine  in  the  cellar." 

And  so  they  went  away  in  groups  down  the 
cross  roads,  the  soldiers  limping  and  good- 
humored,  the  peasants,  both  men  and  women, 
carrying  their  knapsacks  and  carbines. 

Soldiers  were  arriving  every  minute,  and 
peasants  also  as  the  news  spread  came  running 
from  the  fields,  till  there  was  quite  a  concourse 
at  the  cross  roads.  Presently  in  the  midst  of 
the  crowd  we  heard  the  name,  "Loustanoff!" 
"  Loustanoff ! "  reiterated  once  or  twice,  and 
found  to  our  delight  that  our  soldiers  had  come 
at  last.  They  were  not  chasseurs-a-pied  that 
first  day,  only  the  same  thirsty,  dirty,  footsore 
men  of  the  line,  and  it  was  now  our  turn  to  call 
with  anxiety,   'This  way!  this  way!    The  house 


230  BECTOB. 

is  quite  close.  You  see  just  there."  Jean  was 
ajso  in  the  crowd.  We  had  no  need  to  wait  till 
all  our  thirty-five  were  gathered,  but  hurried 
up  the  lane  with  the  first  four  or  eight  who 
happened  to  be  at  hand,  and  the  others  followed 
in  a  straggling  stream.  Our  officers  had  come 
by  a  different  road,  for  they  were  already  at  the 
house ;  Grand'mere  was  talking  to  two  under 
the  porch  as  we  arrived ;  but  she  left  them 
immediately  and  came  forward  to  meet  us. 

"  You  are  very  welcome,  my  poor  fellows," 
she  said  to  the  soldiers.  "  But,  mon  Dieu,  how 
tired  you  look.  Come  this  way ;  you  will  find 
something  to  refresh  you  here." 

She  led  the  way  into  the  yard  while  she  spoke, 
and  as  she  pointed  to  the  open  doors  of  the 
laundry  and  coach-house,  through  which  the 
afternoon  sun  shone  in  upon  the  clean  white- 
washed walls  and  piles  of  fresh  yellow  straw, 
and  the  table  with  its  burden  of  wine  bottles 
standing  in  the  centre  of  each  room,  there  was 
a  rush  on  the  part  of  the  soldiers  to  their 
quarters.  But  they  did  not  first  touch  the  wine; 
they  began  to  throw  off  their  knapsacks  and 
belts.  It  was  Grand'mere  who  took  up  the  first 
bottle  and  called  on  the  man  nearest  to  her  to 
hold  out  his  cup. 


HECTOR.  231 


"  To  your  health,  madame,"  he  said,  as  he 
raised  it  to  his  lips. 

"  To  your  health,  my  good  soldiers,"  Grand'- 
mere  replied;  "drink  all  of  you,  now  drink; 
there  is  half  a  bottle  for  each  man ;  only  leave 
their  share  for  the  comrades  who  have  yet  to 
come." 

The  tables  were  in  an  instant  surrounded  by 
men  who  drank  as  though  it  were  new  life  they 
had  been  given.  Grand'mere  looked  on  with  a 
softened  countenance. 

"Ah!  poor  fellows,  poor  fellows!"  she  said; 
"  they  needed  that.  C'est  ^gal.  They  shall  feel 
better  before  they  leave  us  to-morrow.  Now," 
she  added  aloud,  "  there  is  the  pump,  and  here 
are  towels  ;  you  have  only  to  wash  yourselves 
and  to  take  off  your  big  boots,  and  you  will  find 
your  soup  ready  for  you  in  the  kitchen." 

I  went  indoors  to  help  Madelon  to  set  the 
kitchen  table,  and,  in  a  few  minutes,  the  men 
came  in,  each  with  a  bit  of  bread  in  his  hand, 
and  sat  down  round  the  tables  we  had  prepared, 
to  enjoy  their  big  platefuls  of  steaming  soup. 

"  Ah  !  "  they  said,  as  they  stretched  their  tired 
legs,  "  if  all  campaigning  were  like  this,  the 
trade  of  war  would  be  run  after." 

Hector  and   I   waited   upon   them,   but    they 


232  HECTOB. 

would  not  give  us  trouble  enough.  .They 
chatted  and  laughed  good-humoredly  with  us 
while  they  ate,  but  they  did  not  take  long 
over  their  supper ;  and  when  they  had  finished 
we  heard  a  word  of  command.  They  all  stood 
up,  and  almost  before  we  knew  what  they  were 
going  to  do,  the  tables  were  cleared  and  washed, 
the  plates  they  had  used  were  in  a  tub  of  water, 
the  kitchen  floor  was  swept.  The  promptitude 
of  their  movements  pleased  Madelon.  "  That  is 
what  one  calls  work,"  she  said ;  and  from  that 
day  her  adherence  to  the  cause  of  the  soldiers 
was  complete. 

Grand'mere  also  was  pleased.  "  One  sees," 
she  said,  "  that  they  do  not  wish  to  abuse  our 
hospitality.  It  is  good  that,  it  is  very  good." 
And  while  some  of  the  soldiers  started  again  for 
Ste.  Marie  les  Bains  to  fetch  the  rations,  and 
the  others  were  busy  in  the  yard  cleaning  their 
boots  and  accoutrements,  she  sent  us  down  with 
Jean  into  the  vineyard  to  bring  up  two  market 
baskets  full  of  grapes. 

"  There !  "  she  said  to  the  soldiers  when  we 
had  brought  them  up.  "  As  soon  as  you  have 
finished  your  work,  you  will  carry  your  tables 
into  the  garden,  and  you  will  refresh  yourselves 
with  eating  these  grapes  and  smoking  your 
pipes  at  your  ease." 


HECTOR.  233 

Hector  and  I  had  no  eggs  for  supper  that 
night,  for  every  egg  in  the  house  had  gone  into 
omelettes  for  the  soldiers ;  and  Madelon  was  too 
tired  to  make  us  anything  nice  instead.  But  I 
don't  think  we  either  of  us  cared  or  knew 
whether  we  had  anything  at  all. 

It  was  a  warm  and  lovely  evening,  for  we 
were  then  in  the  middle  of  St.  Martin's  summer; 
the  dining-room  windows  were  wide  open,  and 
before  supper  was  over  a  corporal  sent  in  to 
inquire  whether  Madame  would  have  any  objec- 
tion to  the  men  singing  a  little  in  the  garden, 
Grand'mere  said  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  her  to 
hear  them  sing,  and  it  was  indeed  a  pleasure  to 
all  of  us,  such  as  we  had  not  had  for  a  long 
time.  I  think  they  must  have  sung  all  their 
best  songs  as  a  sort  of  return  for  our  hospitality. 
Some  of  the  men  had  fine  voices,  and  they  took 
the  solos  and  duets  and  trios,  while  all  together 
swelled  the  choruses.  The  dust  of  the  day  did 
not  seem  to  have  choked  their  throats,  for  their 
notes  rose  so  clear  and  strong  on  the  still  even- 
ing air,  that  I  remember  thinking,  as  I  sat  on  a 
stool  by  Grand'mere's  chair  and  listened  without 
seeing  anyone,  how  it  was  like  a  choir  of  angels 
singing  out  in  the  darkness.  They  sang  in  all 
strains,  —  gayly,   sadly,  gloriously.     Grand'mere 


234  HECTOB. 

had  tears  in  her  eyes  constantly  during  the 
evening. 

"And  that  is  how  they  ^o  to  fight,"  she  said 
from  time  to  time.  "  They  are  fine  fellows ! 
they  are  fine  fellows." 

I  do  not  know  how  late  they  continued  to 
sing.  At  half-past  eight  Grand'mere  sent  us  to 
bed,  and  I  was  so  tired  with  the  excitement  of 
the  day,  that  five  minutes  after  my  head  touched 
the  pillow  I  fell  asleep  to  dream  of  soldiers,  with 
"Mourir  pour  la  patrie"  still  ringing  in  my  ears. 


HECTOR.  235 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

TnpARLY  as  we  were  up  on  the  following 
morning  our  soldiers  were  already  gone ; 
but  others  came  that  afternoon  in  their  place, 
and  for  the  next  three  or  four  days  the  country 
swarmed  with  troops.  Only  children  could  fully 
understand  the  delight  that  it  was  to  Hector 
and  me.  I  have  found  out  since  I  have  been 
grown  up,  that  grown-up  people  can  hardly  ever 
give  themselves  entirely  to  one  enjoyment  as  we 
did  without  feeling  that  it  is  wrong.  We  had 
no  pangs  of  conscience  ;  and  except  for  our  very 
short  bit  of  lessons  we  did  nothing  but  enjoy 
ourselves  all  day  long. 

During  these  three  or  four  days  one  of  La- 
grace's  oxen  fell  sick,  and  Irma  did  not  come 
herself  for  the  milk,  as  she  was  wanted  at  home 
to  look  after  it.  We  had  therefore  no  opportu- 
nity of  finding  out  from  her  when  she  expected 
Georges,  but  in  the  meantime,  secure  in  the 
maire's  promise  that  we  should  have  chasseurs 


236  HECTOR. 

quartered  upon  us  when  they  came,  we  gave  our- 
selv^es  up  to  the  pleasure  of  entertaining  other 
soldiers. 

Madelon  had  to  be  up  every  morning  at  three 
o'clock  in  order  to  have  the  officers'  coffee  ready 
for  them  before  they  started,  and  after  the  first 
morning  she  always  called  us  early  that  we 
might  see  them  go.  Then  through  the  day 
troops  of  infantry,  cavalry,  and  artillery,  passed 
and  repassed  upon  the  roads,  and  the  excitement 
of  watching  them  never  palled  upon  us.  The 
greater  part  of  our  time  was  spent  down  at  the 
forge,  where,  while  we  waited  for  new  sights, 
Pierre  repeated  to  us  all  the  stories  about  the 
soldiers  that  each  fresh  day  of  the  occupation  set 
afloat,  and  our  enthusiasm  was  fanned  by  hear- 
ing how  much  they  suffered  from  fatigue  and 
want  of  food,  and  yet  how  well  and  kindly  they 
behaved.  It  almost  always  happened  as  on  the 
first  day  that  they  did  not  get  any  rations  till 
they  were  exhausted  for  want  of  food ;  besides 
that,  all  the  bread  we  had  seen  going  in  open 
wagons  to  Cassagne  had  been  put  damp  into  the 
cellars  of  the  mairie,  and  before  the  men  got  it, 
it  was  covered  with  a  sort  of  green  mould,  which 
made  it  too  bad  to  eat.  Twice  the  rations  of 
meat  also  were  bad,  and  on  those  days,  as  vhe 


HECTOR.  237 


soldiers  had  no  money  and  there  were  not  enough 
shops  in  our  neighborhood  in  any  case  to  supply 
food  for  so  many,  the  men  were  almost  starving. 
Young  soldiers  had  been  seen  crying  for  hunger 
in  the  streets  of  Cassagne,  and  the  old  ones, 
both  officers  and  men,  were  indignant.  Still 
their  good-humor  and  honesty  and  kindliness 
never  failed.  Those  who  came  to  us  stacked 
their  mouldy  bread  merrily  enough  in  the  yard 
for  our  pigs  to  eat,  and  were  grateful  for  what- 
ever we  gave.  They  cleaned  the  knives  and 
boots  of  the  house,  and  cracked  jokes  over  the 
size  of  Hector's  absurd  little  clothes,  which  one 
of  them  generally  brushed.  They  helped  Made- 
Ion  to  scour  her  saucepans,  and  were  always 
ready  to  chatter  good-humoredly  with  Hector 
and  me.  I  was  proud  for  Hector  to  see  them, 
and  he  admired  them  as  much  as  ever  I  could 
wish. 

It  may  easily  be  imagined  under  these  circum- 
stances what  we  felt  when  about  the  third  or 
fourth  morning  of  the  occupation,  Soeur  Amelie 
took  it  upon  herself  to  advise  Grand'm^re  to 
keep  us  very  close  to  the  house  while  the  coun- 
try was  so  full  of  soldiers. 

"An  evil  turn  is  so  quickly  done,"  she  said  : 
"and  it  is  not  e\-en,  Madame  Loustanoff,  as  if 


238  •  HECTOR. 

the  children  were  your  own.  What  would  you 
say  to  Hector's  grandfather  it  the  child  were 
found  murdered  in  a  wood  ? " 

Hector  laughed  one  of  his  infectious  merry 
laughs, 

"  What  would  you  say  to  the  superior,  ma 
Soeur,  if  the  soldiers  mistook  your  white  cornette 
for  a  target,"  he  asked,  "  and  it  were  found 
pierced  with  bullet-holes  in  the  road  ?  " 

But  Grand'm^re  seemed  struck  by  what  Soeur 
Amelie  had  said. 

"  When  I  was  young,  sir,"  she  remarked  to 
Hector,  "  I  was  taught  to  respect  my  elders.  It 
seems  that  it  is  no  longer  the  fashion."  And 
while  Hector  was  blushing  to  the  roots  of  his 
hair,  as  he  always  did  at  a  reproof  from  Grand- 
'mere,  she  continued,  with  her  eyes  fixed  thought- 
fully upon  us,  "  It  is  true  they  are  not  mine ; 
they  are  a  trust.     We  will  see  about  this." 

That  was  all  at  the  time,  but  Hector  and  I 
were  inwardly  furious  with  Soeur  Amelie  for 
talking  of  our  beloved  soldiers  as  if  they  were 
brigands.  They  had  given  proof  enough  of  their 
goodness  now  for  us  to  feel  that  we  had  a  right 
to  be  indignant  for  their  sakes,  and  Hector 
showed  his  anger  by  doing  all  his  lessons  badly 
and  being  stupid  as  only  he  could  be. 


HECTOR.  239 


Clever  as  he  really  was,  he  seemed  at  times  to 
have  an  absolute  genius  for  stupidity.  His  face 
used  to  assume  a  sullen  expression,  his  brows 
used  to  wrinkle,  he  would  take  no  step  without 
asking  for  directions,  and  in  the  simplest  expla- 
nation he  would  invariably  find  a  dark  point 
which  afforded  an  excuse  for  further  questions. 
I  was  never  quite  sure  at  those  times  whether 
he  was  acting,  or  whether,  when  his  mind  was 
full  of  other  things,  Soeur  Amelie's  talk  did  so 
confuse  him  that  he  forgot  from  sentence  to  sen- 
tence what  she  was  saying ;  but  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  what  he  really  did  was  to  abstract  his 
mind  almost  entirely  from  a  present  which  was 
disagreeable  to  him,  and  that  he  thus  produced 
upon  his  companions  of  the  moment  the  impres- 
sion of  a  child  half  imbecile. 

On  this  occasion  Soeur  Amelie  was  very  an- 
gry. She  told  him  several  times  that  he  was 
intolerable,  and  declared  more  than  once  that 
she  believed  the  child  was  an  idiot,  but  it  had  no 
effect.  At  the  end  of  lesson  time  every  lesson 
was  still  undone,  and  Soeur  Amelie  went  away 
still  angry,  telling  Hector  that  he  might  do 
them  as  he  best  could  by  himself,  but  that  they 
were  to  be  done  somehow  before  she  came 
next  morning. 


24.0  nSCTOB. 


As  usual  Hector  put  her  out  of  his  mind  the 
very  instant  she  had  left  the  house.  Jean  wanted 
us  to  help  him  to  clean  out  the  coach-house  for 
a  fresh  set  of  soldiers  who  were  coming  in  that 
afternoon,  and  before  Soeur  Amelie  was  at  the 
end  of  the  lane,  Hector  was  already  busy  with 
broom  and  pitchfork. 

He  came  in  to  dinner  rosy  with  exercise,  and 
with  an  appetite  that  would  have  astonished 
himself  when  he  first  came  to  us. 

Grand'mere  knew  nothing  about  his  behavior 
at  lessons,  and  she  looked  pleased  as  his  plate 
came  forward  again  and  again  to  be  replenished. 
"  Enfin,"  she  said,  towards  the  end  of  dinner, 
"  my  system  is  not  bad.  I  think  your  grand- 
father would  be  satisfied.  Hector,  if  he  saw  you 
now." 

And  a  minute  afterwards  she  added  : 

"  Should  you  be  afraid  to  take  a  message  for 
me  to  the  mill  this  afternoon  .''  " 

The  sudden  lighting  of  Hector's  countenance 
was  answer  enough. 

"  You  believe  in  the  soldiers,  then  .■*  You 
don't  think  they  would  gobble  up  little  children 
if  they  met  them  in  the  wood  .■' " 

Hector  laughed  contentedly.  "  If  they  are 
not  given  any  other   rations,"    he  said,    "  it   is 


HECTOR.  241 


always  possible.  But  since  there  are  no  com- 
plaints !  "  Then  suddenly  changing  his  manner, 
he  burst  out  as  if  in  angry  recollection,  "  I  do 
think  it  is  a  shame,  when  people  are  as  good 
as  they  can  be,  to  talk  as  if  they  were  ogres,  and 
monsters,  and  everything  that  is  horrible.  The 
people  who  do  it  can't  know  what  it  feels  like  to 
be  good.     I  hate  them." 

"  Hum  !  "  said  Grand'mere,  in  her  quiet  sar- 
castic fashion,  "  you  do  well  to  hate  every  one 
who  has  a  different  opinion  from  you.  It  is  one 
of  the  first  duties  of  the  Christian." 

"  I  have  reflected,"  she  added  presently,  when 
Hector  had  had  time  to  digest  her  remark,  "and 
I  also  believe  in  the  good  behavior  of  the  sol- 
diers. I  trust  them,  and  I  will  not  keep  you 
always  in  the  house.  But  you  must  remain  to- 
gether. Where  one  goes  the  other  must  go.  I 
make  you  responsible  for  each  other,  and  you 
understand  that  since  you  have  liberty  you  must 
use  it  well." 

We  promised  in  our  hearts  all  Grand'mdre 
could  wish,  and  it  was  with  a  new  sense  of  self- 
respect  that  we  started  after  dinner  for  the  mill. 

The  autumn  sun  was  very  bright,  and  the  coun- 
try was  basking  in  midday  heat,  when  we  set  out. 
There  was  not  a  creature  stirring  in  the  distant 
16 


242  HECTOR, 


fields,  and  the  woods  were  so  still,  that  as  we 
passed  through  them  our  own  voices  chattering 
made  a  noise  which  seemed  to  be  repeated  a 
thousand  times  in  the  emptiness. 

Grand'mere  had  not  told  us  to  hurry  to  the 
mill,  and  as  her  message  was  only  to  ask  Bap- 
tiste  when  he  would  be  next  going  to  Montfort, 
we  knew  it  did  not  matter  at  what  hour  he  re- 
ceived it,  so  we  dawdled  along  in  our  usual 
happy  fashion,  stopping  to  look  at  all  sorts  of 
things  and  to  listen  from  time  to  time  to  the  tap 
of  the  woodpeckers,  who  alone  worked  on 
through  the  heat.  The  excitement  of  the  sol- 
diers during  the  past  week  had  caused  us  in 
some  measure  to  forget  the  woods,  and  I  remem- 
ber well  the  feeling  we  had  that  day  as  of  coming 
back  to  old  friends  when  we  found  ourselves, 
not  under  the  shade,  but  in  the  golden  light  of 
the  trees.  It  was  a  season  when  the  woods  were 
changing  rapidly  and  every  day  made  them 
more  beautiful.  That  year  was  also,  I  am  glad 
to  think,  a  specially  beautiful  year  in  the  Cha- 
losse,  and  the  whole  way  from  Salaret  to  the 
river  lay  through  a  maze  of  gold  and  purple,  and 
dark  brown  and  crimson  and  pale  yellow. 
Above  us,  around  us,  at  our  feet,  were  such 
beauties  as  no  one   can    picture  who  does  not 


HECTOR.  243 

know  autumn  woods,  and  so  much  had  happened 
in  the  last  few  days  among  the  tree  branches, 
and  the  briars  and  the  bracken,  that  Hector  and 
I  found  almost  more  than  we  could  think  about. 
The  strange  thing  is  that  we  neither  of  us  talked 
to  each  other  about  the  beauty,  and  yet  I  know 
as  well  that  his  mind  was  full  of  it  as  I  know 
that  I  have  never  forgotten  it  myself.  We  talked 
joyously  at  first  about  the  soldiers,  then  as  the 
silence  of  the  woods  fell  upon  us,  we  dropped 
each  into  our  own  thoughts. 

"  I  understand  partly,"  Hector  said  at  last, 
"why  kings  don't  always  give  their  subjects 
liberty." 

I  had  so  often  heard  him  talk  of  the  beauties 
of  freedom  that  I  was  surprised  at  the  change, 
and  I  asked  him  "  why  ?  " 

"Because,"  he  said,  "I  see  now  that  it  is  not 
easy  to  be  sure  you  are  using  liberty  well ;  and 
I  suppose  kings  think  that  the  people  ought 
to  be  taught  first." 

I  did  not  think  very  much  about  liberty  my- 
self one  way  or  the  other,  but  I  knew  Hector 
did,  and  that  it  would  puzzle  and  worry  him  to 
find  his  favorite  idea  wrong,  so  I  said  : 

"  I  dare  say  people  have  to  learn  to  use  it  the 
way  they  learn  every  thing  else,  by  trying,  and 


244  HECTOR. 

the  best  way  is  for  them  to  have  it,  so  that  they 
may  try." 

"  Because,  you  mean,  nothing  but  Hberty  can 
teach  them  to  use  liberty,"  he  said  quickly. 
"  Yes,  I  believe  that  is  it.  Perhaps  that's  why 
Grand'mere  gives  it  to  us.  I  should  like  to  learn. 
Zelie,"  he  continued,  turning  round  to  look  at 
me,  "  how  awfully  clever  you  are  sometimes. 
You  seem  to  know  things  by  jumps." 

I  wasn't  clever  a  bit.  I  didn't  know  any- 
thing about  it,  and  I  had  only  said  what  I 
did  to  make  his  thoughts  comfortable,  but  I 
blushed  for  pleasure  at  his  praise,  and  I  would 
have  been  ready  now  to  talk  of  liberty  for  half 
an  hour. 

He  had  said  all  he  wanted  to  say  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  the  next  moment  he  was  telling  me 
about  a  place  he  had  discovered  where  the  birds 
came  to  drink  in  the  hot  weather. 

"Come  along,"  he  said,  "and  I  will  show  it  to 
you ;  only  mind,  you  must  do  what  the  author 
of  the  Aviceptologie  says  ladies  can't  do,  you 
must  resist  your  natural  itching  to  talk  and 
laugh, — otherwise,  we  shan't  see  any  birds." 

Hector  so  loved  that  book  that  Grand'mere 
had  long  since  given  it  to  him  for  his  own,  and 
he  knew  it  now  almost  by   heart.     So    indeed 


HECTOR.  245 

did  I,  and  in  the  course  of  many  bird-calling 
expeditions,  I  had  learned  to  remain  as  perfectly 
still  under  the  bushes  as  Hector  himself.  His 
recommendation  to  silence  was,  therefore,  on 
this  occasion  hardly  necessary,  but  he  had  a 
habit  of  teasing  me  from  time  to  time  with 
reminders  that  I  was  only  a  girl,  and  I  believe 
the  feeling  that  I  had  to  support  the  honor  of 
our  whole  sex  in  his  eyes,  made  me  often  do 
things  much  better  than  I  should  otherwise  have 
done.  However  that  may  be,  we  had  long 
wished  to  find  the  birds'  drinking-place  at  this 
end  of  the  wood,  and  when  Hector  led  me  to  a 
little  ditch  at  the  bottom  of  Lagrace's  vineyard, 
I  lay  like  a  mute  by  his  side  between  the  vines. 
It  was  not  the  right  hour  of  course  to  see 
birds  come  to  drink,  still  the  wet  ground  all 
round  the  tiny  stream  was  so  cut  up  by  the 
marks  of  claws,  that  we  were  sure  it  was  a  gen- 
eral drinking-place,  and  we  hoped  to  see  a  few 
birds  even  now.  Surely  enough,  after  patiently 
waiting  for  ten  minutes,  there  was  a  rustle  in 
the  underwood  on  the  other  side  of  the  stream, 
and  a  wren  hopped  down  to  bathe  and  drink. 
He  dipped  his  wee  head  in  the  water,  the  light 
drops  were  scattered  on  either  side.  We  held 
our  breath  for  pleasure,   for   we  did  not  often 


246  HECTOR. 


get  a  chance  of  observing  wrens  at  their  every- 
day work.  He,  perching  on  a  mossy  stone, 
dipped  and  bowed  and  scattered  water  in  the 
sunshine;  he  was  just  going  to  hop  right  in, 
when  a  sudden  loud  and  angry  voice  arose  up  at 
the  house,  and  in  one  instant  he  was  gone. 

Hector  and  I  started  with  impatience,  and 
then  hid  ourselves  quickly  again.  But  it  was 
useless  to  hope  for  more  birds  while  the  noise 
at  the  farm  continued.  There  was  evidently 
something  the  matter.  Many  voices  were  raised 
in  tones  both  of  scolding  and  lamentation,  and 
above  them  all  we  heard  Lagrace's,  loud  and 
harsh. 

We  could  distinguish  no  words  at  first,  but 
after  a  time  Lagrace  with  his  sons  went  away  to 
work,  and  we  heard  his  voice  distinctly  as  he  ap- 
proached along  the  vineyard  path. 

"  Enfin,"  with  an  oath,  "  this  must  come  to  an 
end  ;  I  am  not  a  fool  to  ruin  myself  for  a  child's 
caprice.  I  have  said,  and  I  will  be  obeyed. 
You  have  till  to-morrow.     After  that,  gare  !  " 

Then  a  gradually  fading  murmur  of  sound  up 
at  the  house,  and  all  fell  into  silence  again. 

But  we  could  think  no  more  of  birds.  We 
felt  suddenly  as  though  we  had  been  horribly 
selfish  to  think  of  them  at  all. 


HECTOR.  247 

Hector  stood  up  presently  and  shook  himself 
and  said,  "  Let  us  go  up  to  the  house  and  see 
Irma,  and  ask  after  that  ox  that  was  sick.  .Per- 
haps, after  all,  Lagrace  was  scolding  about  it." 

The  scolding  had  been  so  violent  that  I  fol- 
lowed him  in  some  fear  and  trembling,  half-dread- 
ing, though  all  was  silent  now,  the  spirit  of 
anger  that  seemed  to  live  within  the  walls  of  the 
farmhouse. 

Madame  Lagrace  was  stringing  onions  under 
a  shed  in  the  garden.  She  was  a  stern-faced 
woman,  who  had  a  reputation  for  working  very 
hard  and  behaving  like  a  stepmother  to  her  own 
children.  She  was  working  hard  now,  and  the 
onion  string  she  was  engaged  upon  grew  like 
magic  under  her  fingers,  but  she  seemed  to  have 
no  satisfaction  in  her  work.  Her  face  was  as 
dismal  as  if  she  had  been  sitting  idle  with  dull 
thoughts.  We  asked  for  Irma ;  she  jerked  her 
head  towards  the  stable,  and  said  she  was  over 
there. 

"  May  we  go  and  see  her  .''  "  said  Hector  ;  "we 
came  to  ask  after  the  ox  that  was  sick." 

"  You  may  go ;  and  you'll  see  two  things 
about  equally  useful  to  a  peasant — a  dead  ox  and 
a  girl  who  won't  serve  her  parents.  Ah,  mafoi! 
and  after  her  there  are  still  ten  to  feed." 


248  HECTOR. 


"  The  ox  dead  !  "  I  exclaimed,  knowing  better 
than  Hector  what  that  meant  to  a  metayer  who 
was  not  rich.  "  The  ox  dead !  What  will 
you  do  ? " 

"Ah!  just  so,"  she  said  bitterly;  "what  will 
we  do  ?  The  horses  sold  this  year  for  next  to 
nothing,  the  wine  spoilt  with  cutting  the  grapes 
too  early,  and  now  the  finest  ox  dead.  I  saw 
very  well  yesterday  that  it  was  going  to  die,  and 
I  told  Lagrace  he  had  better  kill  it,  and  at  least 
sell  the  meat ;  but  no,  he  is  always  obstinate  as 
a  mule,  and  then  is  surprised  that  his  daughter 
matches  him.  Between  the  two  of  them  they 
will  ruin  us  from  top  to  bottom.  What  we  shall 
do !  The  children  soon  will  not  have  a  bit  to 
eat,  and  we  shall  become  a  shame  and  a  laughing- 
stock to  the  neighborhood." 

I  expressed  our  sympathy  as  I  best  could,  but 
naturally  it  did  not  console  her  much. 

"It  is  ruin,"  she  repeated  doggedly;  "one 
brings  us  to  it,  and  when  there  is  yet  a  way  to 
escape,  the  other  hesitates  to  take  it.  Eh  bien  ! 
I  am  sick  of  obstinate  people.  But  I  must  have 
my  turn.  We  have  trifled  enough,  and  now  that 
I  charge  myself  with  affairs,  we  shall  see  if  they 
won't  mend.     Nobody  shall  resir,t  me  long." 

She  looked  so  hard  and  cruel  while  she  spoke, 


HECTOR.  249 

that  all  my  sympathy  for  her  went  away,  and  I 
was  glad  to  escape  from  her  angry  eyes  and  fol 
low  Hector  to  the  stable. 

We  neither  of  us  spoke  as  we  went  across  the 
yard.  We  saw  no  one,  and  we  had  no  need  to 
ask  in  which  shed  Irma  was.  The  sound  of  a 
child's  weeping  drew  us  to  an  open  door.  We 
looked  in.  There  on  the  litter  lay  the  dead  ox, 
and  on  an  upturned  pail  by  the  manger  Irma  sat 
with  her  head  bowed  upon  her  hands.  The 
children  stood  round,  looking  on  with  solemn, 
wide-open  eyes,  and  the  sound  of  weeping  came 
from  little  Jeanne,  who  stood  at  Irma's  knee, 
crying  and  sobbing  as  if  for  a  sympathy  that  she 
knew  no  other  way  to  express. 

Irma  raised  her  head  as  we  came  in  at  the 
door,  but  she  did  not  see  us ;  she  only  took  little 
Jeanne  upon  her  knee  and  held  her  close  in  her 
arms,  and  said  : 

"There,  there,  poor  little  one!  don't  cry,  you 
have  no  need.  Irma  will  do  something  soon 
which  will  make  you  so  happy  and  so  rich.  You 
shall  have  fritters  on  Sunday,  and  everything 
that  you  like." 

And  then  suddenly  Irma  herself  began  to  cry, 
and  while  Jeanne  laid  her  head,  soothed,  upon 
her  sister's  shoulder,  big  tears  splashed  fast  one 
after  another  on  the  child's  blue  pinafore. 


250  HECTOR. 

"  Irma,  you  are  crying,"  she  said;  "why  do 
you  cry  if  we  are  going  to  be  rich  and  happy?" 

"  It  is  that — "  Then  she  broke  down  com- 
pletely, and  seemed  to  forget  the  children. 
"  Oh  !  it  is  hard.  But  God  wills  it ;  I  prayed  to 
Him  so  well.  When  the  ox  fell  ill  I  knew  that 
all  my  happiness  was  there,  and  I  watched  him 
night  and  day.  I  said  in  my  heart  I  would  take 
it  for  a  sign ;  and  God  would  not  have  it  so.  I 
must  submit." 

"  Irma  !  Irma  !  What  is  it  ?  "  cried  the  little 
thing,  clinging  to  her  sister's  neck  as  Irma's 
sobs  rose  choking  her,  and  her  tears  fell  fast. 
"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  .-' " 

"  It  is  that — it  is  that — he  will  always  think  I 
have  betrayed  him  because  the  other  is  more 
rich.  And  I  must  never  tell  him  to  the  con- 
trary. Ah,  if  God  could  have  spared  but  this 
one  ox ! " 

"  It  is  because  of  the  ox  that  you  are  crying .-'" 

"  Yes,  dear,  yes  !  because  of  the  ox."  And 
Irma,  seeming  to  recollect  herself,  raised  her 
head  and  wiped  her  tears  away  with  the  corner 
of  her  apron.  "  You  must  not  make  yourselves 
sad,"  she  said,  looking  round  at  the  other  child- 
ren ;  "  I  am  stupid  to  go  and  cry  like  that  when 
duty  is  there  quite  simple." 


HECTOE.  251 


Her  eyes  fell  at  the  moment  upon  us,  and 
Hector,  whom  I  had  not  looked  at  till  then, 
stepped  forward  with  his  face  very  white,  and 
his  eyes  dark  and  glowing. 

"  What  is  your  duty  ?  what  are  you  going  to 
do,  Irma  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  am  going  to  marry  the  miller,"  she  re- 
plied in  a  dull  quiet  voice. 

"  The  miller  !  Baptiste  !  "  we  cried  together, 
too  much  astonished  for  another  word,  while  the 
children,  who  had  no  doubt  been  taught  to 
desire  this,  set  up  a  shout  of  joy. 

'^Our  ox  is  dead,"  she  said.  "  If  I  marry  the 
miller  he  will  give  us  another  ox,  and  he  will 
lend  money  to  my  father.  The  children  will 
have  enough  to  eat."  She  pointed  as  she  spoke 
with  one  hand  to  the  ox,  and  with  the  other  arm 
drew  little  Jeanne  closer  against  her  breast. 
Her  eyes  looking  up  at  Hector  were  so  good 
and  honest,  that  to  look  at  them  would  have 
made  it  impossible  for  me  to  say  another  word. 
They  did  not  seem  to  have  that  effect  on  Hector. 
"And  Georges,"  he  said,  "you  seem  to  be  quite 
forgetting  him  !  " 

A  sudden  quiver  ran  through  her,  but  she 
replied  as  quietly  as  before  : 

"  No,  I  am  not  forgetting  him.     I  am  doing 


252  HECTOR. 

my  duty.  Children  do  not  understand  these 
things." 

"  No,  indeed  ! "  Hector  broke  out  bitterly, 
"  we  don't  understand  the  kind  of  duty  which 
makes  you  break  your  promises,  and  break 
hearts,  and  then  say  it's  all  right  because  the 
children  will  have  fritters  on  Sunday.  It's 
horrible  of  you.  I  didn't  think  you  were  so 
wicked." 

His  cheek  flushed,  his  lip  quivered  as  he 
spoke.  Irma  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  and  so 
did  I,  for  I  hardly  thought  he  would  have  cared 
so  much. 

"You  do  not  forget!"  he  continued.  "You 
remember  how  Georges  said  to  you  in  the  wood 
that  it  was  like  a  sickness  to  him  here,"  and 
Hector  put  his  hand,  as  Georges  had  done,  upon 
his  heart,  "  to  think  other  people  were  trying  to 
get  you,  and  how  he  could  never  live  in  this 
place  if  you  married  anyone  else,  but  that  he 
would  go  to  Africa,  and  leave  his  old  father  to 
die  alone.  You  remember  how  you  promised 
that  in  any  case  you  would  wait;  and  still  you 
are  going  to  marry  a  great  fat  selfish  brute,  who 
is  engaged  already  to  someone  else.  I  thought 
you  were  different.  I  thought  you  were  faithful; 
and  if  it's  duty  to  be  unfaithful,  then  I'd  a  great 
deal  rather  be  wicked." 


HECTOR.  253 


Irma's  pale  cheeks  began  to  glow  as  Hector 
spoke,  but  the  only  part  of  his  speech  which  she 
attempted  to  answer  was  his  allusion  to  the 
miller's  engagement. 

"  How  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  he  betrothed  al- 
ready ?  It  is  not  enough  for  him  to  break  my 
heart  and  Georges'.  There  is  yet  another  un- 
fortunate." 

We  told  her  all  we  knew  about  Marie  Monthez, 
and  how  we  were  sure  she  loved  the  miller ;  and 
then  the  finishing  stroke  was  put  to  our  horror 
of  Baptiste.  It  seemed  that  instead  of  intend- 
ing to  marry  Marie  Monthez  himself,  he  was 
trying  to  arrange  a  match  between  her  and 
Georges,  in  order  that  Irma  might  be  left  free 
for  him. 

"She  is  too  old  for  Georges,"  Irma  said;  "but 
she  was  always  his  favorite  cousin.  The  miller 
has  influence  with  the  family,  because  he  is  rich, 
and  he  told  my  father  yesterday  that  it  was  all 
but  settled,  I  have  only  to  give  my  consent  to 
marry  him,  and  next  day  Georges  and  Marie  are 
engaged.  Oh !  he  is  cruel  and  selfish.  He 
knows  how  to  have  his  own  way." 

But  Hector's  belief  in  Georges  was  not  for  an 
instant  shaken,  and  he  had  little  pity  for  Irma's 
perplexities. 


254  HECTOR. 

"Anyone  can  have  his  own  way  if  women  are 
such  fools  that  they  can't  keep  a  promise.  What 
has  the  miller  to  do  with  you?"  Hector  said. 
"  It  was  not  he  who  told  Georges  he'd  wait  for 
him.  It  was  not  he  who  told  Georges  he  trusted 
him." 

"And  then,"  Irma  went  on  rapidly,  "what  is 
that  you  say  about  the  postman  having  called 
one  day  at  the  forge .-'  Pierre  told  me  he  had 
not  had  a  letter,  and  who  but  Georges  would 
write  to  him  when  they  knew  he  cannot  read.? 
What  can  I  do }  How  can  I  know  the  truth 
when  my  parents  and  my  friends  are  lying 
against  me .'' " 

She  bowed  her  head  again  upon  her  hands, 
and  we  remained  all  silent  for  a  moment. 

Then  the  children  seeing  that  Irma  no  long-er 
wept,  became  suddenly  shy  of  us,  and  ran  away 
into  the  yard,  and  Irma  and  Hector  entered  into 
a  discussion,  in  which,  though  I  cannot  now 
remember  the  words,  I  remember  very  well  that 
Hector's  one  idea,  from  which  he  could  not  be 
moved,  was,  that  Irma  had  no  right  to  break  her 
promise  to  Georges.  He  argued  against  every- 
thing she  had  to  say  so  stoutly  and  fiercely  that 
she  seemed  almost  to  forget  he  was  a  child,  and 
I  saw  her  look  at  him  once  or  twice  in  a  sort  of 


HECTOR.  255 

surprise,  as  one  looks  at  a  person  one  has  never 
known  before. 

"  I  am  very  ignorant,"  she  said.  "  I  do  not 
know  much  what  is  right  or  wrong,  but  I  trusted 
to  God  for  a  sign,  and  now  it  has  come  and  I 
dare  not  disobey."  I  should  not  have  dared  to 
argue  against  that,  and  even  without  it  I  should 
have  thought  her  very  good  to  do  what  her 
father  and  mother  wished ;  but  Hector  SQemed 
sure  the  other  way. 

"  You  promised  Georges.  Georges  thinks  you 
are  his,  and  you  have  no  right  to  break  your 
word,"  he  reiterated.  "  You  chose  to  say  in 
your  heart  that  the  ox's  death  would  be  a  sign, 
but  God  isn't  obliged  to  do  according  to  your 
heart,  and  it  isn't  a  sign.  He  never  gave  a  sign 
to  be  unfaithful." 

I,  scarcely  knowing  which  I  agreed  with,  could 
not  help  believing  that  Hector  must  be  right, 
and  Irma's  heart  was  on  his  side  all  the  time. 
So  at  last  it  seemed  quite  natural  to  us,  that 
when  he  prayed  Irma  to  wait  one  week  before 
she  gave  her  answer  to  her  father,  she  was 
inclined,  child  as  he  was,  to  listen  seriously  to 
his  proposal. 

"If  you  will  wait,"  he  said,  "we  will  find 
some  way  of  letting  Georges  know,  and  he  will 


256  EECTOE.  "» 

tell  you  what  to  do  ;  but  you  cannot  break  your 
promise  by  yourself.". 

It  was  settled  thus  at  last.  Hector  was  not 
content  with  a  vague  promise  from  Irma  that 
she  would  think  about  it.  He  made  her  enter 
into  a  clear  and  serious  engagement  that  she 
would  not  give  her  father  a  final  answer  for 
another  week,  and  he  on  his  side  entered  into 
an  equally  serious  engagement  to  let  Georges 
know  before  that  time  what  was  taking  place  at 
home. 

Then  we  left  the  metairie  with  the  immediate 
duty  before  us  of  giving  Grand'm^re's  message 
to  the  miller. 


HECTOR.  257 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

T  WOULD  as  willingly  have  undertaken  to  go 
and  talk  quietly  to  a  dragon  in  his  den  as  to 
go  and  talk  quietly  to  the  miller  after  the  news  we 
had  just  received.  It  seemed  too  dreadful  that 
he  should  be  the  rich  old  man  whom  Irma  was  to 
marry.  He,  so  selfish,  so  dull,  so  fat.  He  who 
had  tried  to  set  the  people  against  the  soldiers. 
He  whom  we  had  always  laughed  at.  All  this 
summer,  while  we  had  been  meeting  him  and 
talking  to  him  and  treating  him  like  other 
people,  he  had  been  persecuting  her  and  trying 
to  take  her  away  from  Georges.  I  felt  so  dazed 
and  bewildered  by  the  discovery,  that  I  was 
hardly  yet  able  to  take  in  the  fact  that  Hector 
had  become  mixed  up  in  the  matter,  and  that 
he  had  promised  to  let  Georges  know  what  was 
going  on.  Any  thoughts  I  had  about  the 
possibility  of  helping  her  were  expressed  in  the 
despairing  exclamation  which  burst  from  me  as 
the  comfortable  red  tiles  of  the  mill  and  the  still 
17 


258  HECTOB. 

pond  fringed  with  laden  chestnut  trees  came  in 
sight. 

"  Oh,  Hector  !  He  is  so  rich.  She  will  never 
escape  from  him." 

I  had  no  hope  that  she  could  be  saved,  but 
Hector  thought  differently. 

He  turned  round  upon  me  with  a  sort  of 
surprise. 

"But  she  must  escape,"  he  said,  "It  is  not 
likely  that  a  selfish  brute  like  that  will  have  his 
way,  and  good  fellows  like  Georges  give  up. 
She  ought  to  have  stuck  firm  to  her  promise 
always,  and  then  there'd  have  been  no  fear," 

"Hector,"  I  asked  incredulously,  "  have  you 
really  the  idea  that  you  can  render  Irma  any 
service  "^ " 

"What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  You  told  her  you  would  let  Georges  know ; 
jjQt  you  would  not  ever  be  able  to  find  him, 
would  you  ? " 

"You  don't  suppose  I'd  have  promised  if  I 
didn't  mean  to  find  him.  Of  course  I  shall  let 
him  know." 

"  But  you  don't  know  the  number  of  his 
battalion,"  I  said ;  not  that  I  wanted  to  dis- 
,3uade  him,  but  simply  that  I  was  so  astounded 
at  the  undertaking  he  thus  coolly  entered  upon, 


B  EC  TOE.  259 


that  I  could  not  help  enumerating  the  difficul- 
ties. "  Nor  the  name  of  his  colonel.  The 
chasseurs  don't  come ;  and  if  we  go  about 
among  the  troops  asking  for  Georges  of  St. 
Loubouet  they  will  take  us  only  for  two  mad 
children.  That  again  would  matter  little ;  but 
if  Irma  is  going  to  marry  the  miller  for  the 
children's  sake,  of  what  use  will  it  be  to  bring 
Georges  here.''     He  has  no  money." 

Then  I  understood  that  what  Hector  had  said 
to  Irma  was  what  he  really  thought. 

"  She  must  not  marry  the  miller  for  the 
children's  sake,"  he  said,  indignantly.  "  I  don't 
see  the  good  of  people  having  tongues  if  they 
can  only  tell  lies  with  them  ;  and  when  she 
promised  Georges  she'd  wait  for  him,  she  ought 
to  keep  that  promise  first  of  everything." 

"  Even  when  she  breaks  it  for  a  good  pur- 
pose .-* " 

"  All  I  know  is,"  said  Hector  doggedly,  "  that 
if  I  was  a  man  I'd  hate  a  woman  who  said  'yes ' 
with  a  whole  lot  of  'ifs'  in  her  heart.  You'd 
never  feel  sure  at  any  minute  that  her  'yes' 
wasn't  going  to  turn  into  'no.'  If  she  means 
'yes,'  let  her  say  it,  and  then  afterwards  stick  to 
it ;  and  if  she  doesn't  mean  it,  don't  let  her  say 
it  at  all." 


26o  HECTOK. 

He  muttered  something  about  "wishy-washy 
girls,"  and  then  he  said  aloud,  "  Zelie,  you  know 
what  Dr.  Charles  and  Esquebesse  think  gentle- 
men ought  to  be.  Well,  I  think  like  them,  and 
because  you  and  I  are  a  gentleman  and  lady,  we 
ought  to  work  for  Irma.  The  only  thing  that 
can  do  any  good  is  to  bring  Georges  here,  and  I 
am  going  to  bring  him  here.  You  can  help  or 
not,  as  you  like,  only  mind  yoiire  not  to  say 
'yes'  with  '  ifs  '  in  your  heart.  If  you  say  *  yes,' 
you're  to  do  everything  I  want,  and  I  may  want 
more  than  you  think." 

At  that  moment  I  happened  to  look  towards 
the  mill,  and  I  saw  the  miller's  fat  comfortable 
figure  crossing  the  stream  by  the  little  bridge 
that  led  into  the  wood.  He  paused  half  way, 
and  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hands  that  he  might 
look  up  at  Lagrace's  metairie.  The  sight  of  him 
was  enough  to  drive  away  indecision  if  I  had  had 
any.  I  turned  boldly  round  and  answered  with 
a  smile,  "  No  matter  what  you  want  to  do,  I'll 
help  you." 

Then  we  took  hands,  and  ran  down  together 
towards  the  mill.  We  knew  that  the  miller  was 
not  in  ;  so  we  went  on  into  the  wood  to  find  him, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  we  marked  his  blue 
blouse  down  among  the  yellow  fern  by  the  river. 


HECTOR.  261 

He  was  walking  up  and  down  smoking  a  cigar- 
ette as  though  he  were  waiting  for  some  one ; 
and  whether  it  was  the  recollection  of  the  person 
whom  we  had  last  seen  with  him  in  that  place, 
or  the  thoughts  of  which  our  minds  were  full, 
I  cannot  say,  but  the  same  idea  flashed  through 
both  our  heads  at  once. 

"Stop,"  Hector  said,  "let  us  watch  him,  and 
see  who  comes.  If  it  isn't  our  business,  we 
needn't  listen." 

We  were  still  at  some  distance  from  him,  and 
he  had  not  remarked  our  approach,  for  the  brack- 
en was  in  many  places  above  our  heads.  We 
had  nothing  to  do,  therefore,  but  to  stay  where 
we  were,  by  the  water's  edge,  under  the  spread- 
ing branches  of  a  chestnut  tree,  and  we  had  not 
waited  very  long  before  the  sound  of  footsteps 
advancing  over  the  dry  bracken  and  crackling 
beech  nuts  told  us  that  the  miller's  friend  was 
coming.  We  peeped  out  cautiously  from  behind 
the  bracken.  It  was  he,  the  tramp  !  Good-bye 
to  any  lingering  scruples  we  might  have  had  on 
the  subject  of  listening  to  what  was  not  intended 
for  us.  We  strained  our  ears  and  craned  our 
necks,  and  by  standing  on  the  very  tips  of  our 
toes,  we  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  good  view  of 
the  bit  of  ground  on  which  the  miller  stood.   We 


262  HECTOR. 


could  not  hear  everything  that  was  said,  but 
after  a  few  sentences  had  passed  between  them, 
each  man  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  the  miller 
pulled  some  money  out  of  his,  and  the  tramp  at 
the  same  moment  produced  a  letter.  Hector 
had  hold  of  .-my  hand  at  the  time,  and  he  squeez- 
ed it  so  tight  that  I  could  hardly  help  screaming. 
I  would  rather  have  had  it  squeezed  off,  how- 
ever, than  have  made  any  noise,  and  it  was  well 
that  I  was  silent,  for  just  at  that  mopient  we 
caught  the  sound  of  the  miller's  voice. 

The  tramp  was  holding  out  the  letter  to  him. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  touch  it.  You 
shall  have  your  money,  but  you  shall  not  have  it 
to  say  of  me  that  I  received  a  stolen  letter.  If 
it  falls  in  the  river  it  is  not  my  fault." 

He  threw  up  some  silver  coins  and  caught 
them  again.  The  letter  span  out  over  the  water, 
and  the  next  thing  we  saw  was  the  tramp  chink- 
ing the  money  in  his  turn  before  he  thrust  it 
into  his  pocket.  Then  the  tramp  and  the  miller 
walked  away  together ;  and  two  minutes  later, 
Hector,  hanging  from  one  of  the  low  spreading 
boughs  of  the  chestnut  tree  which  had  sheltered 
us,  had  fished  the  bit  of  drenched  white  paper 
from  the  water.  We  did  not  know  Georges' 
handwriting,    but   the   letter    was    directed    to 


a   Ctq 


3 :: 


^      3" 


n  3- 


HECTOR.  263 

Pierre,  and  it  had  the  Montfort  postmark,  which 
was  quite  enough  for  us  ;  our  triumph  was  great. 
But  we  had  no  time  to  enjoy  it,  for  Hector  had 
only  just  folded  the  letter  in  his  handkerchief, 
and  put  it  carefully  in  the  breast  pocket  of  his 
coat,  when  we  heard  the  footsteps  of  the  miller 
returning  alone. 

We  should  have  liked  to  run,  but  there  was 
Grand'mere's  message  to  deliver.  We  there- 
fore made  our  way  down  to  the  mill,  and  met 
the  miller  on  the  threshold  of  his  own  door. 

He  looked  very  radiant  and  self-satisfied,  I 
think  my  eyes  must  have  flashed  fire  at  him,  I 
felt  so  angry.  Hector  seemed  as  dull  and  cold 
as  a  stone. 

"  When  I  shall  be  going  to  Montfort,"  said 
the  miller  when  we  had  given  our  message. 
"Yes,  I  shall  have  business  there  the  day  after 
to-morrow, — business  upon  which  I  shall  per- 
haps have  to  consult  your  grandmother  too. 
H6  !     It  is  fine  weather  for  business." 

He  thrust  his  hands  deep  down  as  he  spoke 
into  the  pockets  of  his  baggy  trousers,  and 
looked  at  us  with  the  satisfied  air  of  a  donkey 
who  rubs  his  back  against  a  tree.  I  felfas  if  I 
should  choke. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hector,  in  his  most  absent  man- 
nei.     "  It  is  fine  weather  too  for  fishing." 


264  HECTOR. 


The  miller  was  startled  out  of  his  state  of 
beatitude.  He  glanced  at  Hector  in  evident 
discomfort,  but  Hector's  countenance  remained 
a  blank,  and  he  composed  himself  again. 

"  Do  you  sometimes  fish  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Sometimes." 

"  Do  you  ever  catch  anything  .''  " 

"  Sometimes." 

And  then,  as  if  rousing  himself  with  an  effort 
to  put  a  question,  Hector  looked  coolly  up  at  the 
miller,  and  said  : 

"  Can  you  tell  us  the  number  of  Georges  of  St. 
Loubouet's  battalion  and  the  name  of  his 
colonel  ^  " 

This  time,  whether  with  surprise  or  vexation, 
or  a  mixture  of  both,  the  miller  turned  red  up  to 
the  roots  of  his  hair,  and  having  done  that,  with 
Hector's  clear  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  he  seemed 
to  grow  more  and  more  confused  and  angry. 

"What  do  I  know  about  it.''"  he  asked  irri- 
tably. "Do  you  suppose  I  keep  account  of  the 
regiments  and  colonels  of  all  the  young  fellows 
about  here  who  are  taken  by  the  conscription : 
I  have  something  else  to  do.  You  may  tell  your 
grandmother  then,  that  I  shall  be  going  to  Mont- 
fort  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

We  turned  away,  and  another  thought  seemed 
to  strike  him. 


HECTOR.  265 

"  Wait  for  me  a  minute,"  he  cried,  "  I  am  go- 
ing up  to  Lagrace's  place  now,  and  after  that  1 
will  pass  round  by  your  grandmother's.  Marie 
Anna  will  give  you  some  goiiter  while  I  slip  on 
a  clean  blouse." 

His  company  was  the  last  thing  we  desired, 
and  we  were  beginning  to  say  that  we  could  not 
wait,  when  we  perceived  Marie  Anna  in  the  pas- 
sage behind  him,  making  hideous  signs  to  us  to 
accept  his  offer. 

We  entered  therefore,  and  while  the  miller 
went  up  stairs  Marie  Anna  beckoned  us  into 
the  kitchen. 
.  "  He  knows  Georges'  battalion  as  well  as  I 
do,"  she  averred,  "  It  is  the  3d,  Colonel  Roche. 
But  you  will  search  for  Georges  in  vain  amongst 
the  soldiers  who  are  here  ;  he  is  not  coming  ;  his 
colonel  keeps  him  to  write  in  the  office  at  Mont- 
fort.  Tenez  !  without  more  feigning,  I  saw  you 
just  now  by  the  riverside  ;  what  was  it  you  fished 
out  of  the  water  with  so  much  care  .-* " 

I  kioked  in  dismay  at  Hector ;  but  he  did  not 
seem  to  mind  in  the  least,  and  answered  boldly : 

"  It  was  a  letter  from  Georges  which  had  been 
stolen." 

"And  it  is  for  that  that  you  wan*-  his  ad 
dress?" 


266  HECTOR. 


"  Yes,  it  is  to  let  him  know  that  your  master 
is  an  old  coward  who  is  trying  to  steal  his  sweet- 
heart from  him.  And  you  may  go  straight  up 
stairs  and  tell  your  master  what  I  am  going  to 
do  if  you  like,  I  don't  want  him  to  be  friends 
with  me.  But  he  needn't  think  he  has  got 
Irma  yet." 

Marie  Anna  did  not  show  the  slightest  incli- 
nation to  declare  our  proceedings  to  her  master. 

"  Oui  da !  Oui  da !  "  she  said,  nodding  her 
head  emphatically.  "  If  that  is  how  it  is,  I  am 
on  your  side  ;  Irma  is  not  of  his  age,  it  is  a  folly. 
Ah !  the  old  fox,  he  would  intercept  letters, 
would  he .''  He  becomes  sharp  in  his  old  age ; 
but  there  are  others  who  are  sharper.  Listen  ! " 
she  dropped  her  voice  as  she  spoke  and  glanced 
suspiciously  at  the  staircase.  "  He  is  weaving  a 
plot  to  make  her  think  that  Georges  is  marrying 
another.  Tell  her  from  me  that  there  is  not  one 
word  of  truth  in  it.  Old  women  know  every- 
thing, and  I  know  they  may  do  what  they  like: 
Marie  Monthez  won't  have  it  any  more  than 
Georges." 

The  miller's  step  was  heard  on  the  staircase, 
and  we  were  soon,  in  spite  of  our  distaste  for  his 
company,  walking  with  him  up  the  road.  We 
lagged  a  little  behind,  so  as  to  avoid   the  neces- 


EECTOL.  267 

sity  of  conversation,  and  I  do  not  believe  that 
Hector  looked  at  him  once  as  we  went  along. 
But  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  from  him  ;  his 
heavy  clumsy  figure  looked  heavier  and  clumsier 
to  me  at  every  step  he  took.  I  noticed  how 
round  his  shoulders  were,  how  he  rolled  from 
side  to  side,  and  scarcely  lifted  his  feet  when  he 
walked,  how  he  never  raised  his  head  to  look  at 
the  fields,  but  plodded  forward  with  his  eyes  on 
the  dust.  Then  every  five  minutes  he  stopped  to 
take  off  his  cap  and  wipe  his  face  as  though 
going  up  the  hill  to  the  metairie  were  hard  work, 
when  the  worst  heat  of  the  day  was  over.  And 
presently,  as  if  to  mark  the  contrast,  four  sol- 
diers came  out  from  a  side  road  and  marched  up 
the  hill  before  us  with  a  light  and  springing 
step,  chatting  gayly  to  each  other  as  they  went. 

I  had  often  seen  the  miller's  ugliness  and 
awkwardness  before,  but  he  had  never  looked  to 
me  so  ugly  as  he  did  on  that  day,  when  I  knew 
how  cruel  and  selfish  he  was  in  his  heart ;  and 
as  I  walked  behind  him,  I  remember  feeling  a 
sort  of  horrible  fascination,  as  though  he  were 
wickedness  itself  moving  along  the  sunny  road, 
and  I  were  obliged  to  stay  close  by  it. 

When  we  reached  the  metairie,  the  miller 
turned  in  at  the  gate.     We  continued  our  road, 


268  HECTOR. 

skirting  the  low  paling  of  the  farmyard.  Irma 
was  turning  over  straw  with  a  pitchfork  in  one 
of  the  sheds,  but  before  we  had  time  to  call  her, 
Madame  Lagrace  came  out  of  the  house.  She 
looked  round  a  moment  as  if  to  find  her  daugh- 
ter, then  seeing  Irma  in  the  shed,  she  crossed 
the  yard,  snatched  the  pitchfork  away,  and,  with- 
out any  apparent  reason,  gave  Irma  a  vigorous 
box  on  the  ears. 

We  saw  Irma's  eyes  flash  fire  for  an  instant, 
for  she  was  not  meek  by  nature.  Then  she 
seemed  to  recollect  herself,  and  straightening 
the  handkerchief  which  bound  her  hair,  she  went 
into  the  house  without  a  word,  her  pale  face 
looking  all  the  paler  for  the  red  mark  left  by  her 
mother's  hand  upon  her  cheek. 

Just  then  if  Hector  had  asked  me  to  go 
through  fire  and  water  to  save  her,  I  would  have 
done  it  willingly. 


HECTOU.  269 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

"^  \ /"E  lost  little  time,  as  may  be  imagined,  in 
^  taking  the  rescued  letter  to  the  forge. 
Es^uebes-jr  happened  to  be  with  Pierre.  It  was 
he  who  'pened  it  and  read  aloud  the  contents. 
It  came  as  we  had  thought,  from  Georges,  and 
the  d:?'.e  showed  that  it  must  have  arrived  the 
very  ''ay  we  saw  the  postman  stop  outside  the 
forge,  In  it  Georges  told  how  his  colonel  was 
obliged  to  keep  him  at  Montfort,  because  of  the 
sudden  death  of  one  of  the  non-commissioned 
.  officers,  and  how  this  same  unexpected  circum- 
stance had  given  him  his  promotion.  "  But," 
he  said,  "  if  it  is  Irma  who  reads  this  letter  to 
you,  she  is  to  know  that  they  might  make  me 
Marshal  of  France,  and  it  would  not  give  me  the 
same  pleasure  as  only  to  see  her ;  for  I  think  of 
her  night  and  day,  and  it  seems  to  me  I  can 
never  he  satisfied  till  I  touch  her  hand  again." 
And  the  miller  had  almost  made  her  believe  that 
Geor;;es  was  forgetting  her!  Hector  and  I 
boil'-d  over  with  indignation. 


27°  HECTOR. 

"  Ha  !  "  said  Pierre,  "  it  is  with  good  reason 
that  they  never  let  her  come  now  to  the  forge; 
they  fear  that  she  may  hear  the  truth.  But  it  is 
you,  Esquebesse,  who  must  charge  yourself  with 
letting  her  know  it  now.  And  since  we  have 
discovered  the  plots  that  Messer  Baptiste  has 
been  laying,  we  must  find  means  to  turn  him 
aside  with  a  little  threat  of  the  law.  What  he 
has  done  with  regard  to  the  letter  is  surely  an 
affair  for  the  tribunal,  and  though  I  am  not  rich, 
and  have  no  malice  towards  him,  I  would  will- 
ingly pay  a  little  prosecution  if  it  could  serve 
the  children,  I  love  that  Georges  as  if  he  were 
my  son.  It  would  give  me  pain  to  see  him 
suffer." 

"  Yes,"  said  Esquebesse,  "  it  is  on  the  miller 
we  must  work.  Irma  is  there  torn  between  her 
duty  and  her  inclination.  She  sees  the  children 
cry,  she  is  told  that  it  is  her  duty  to  marry  the 
miller,  and  she  is  a  girl  to  break  her  heart  rather 
than  not  do  her  duty.  But  she  shall  have  this 
letter  to-night,  and  I  charge  myself  after  that 
with  frightening  the  miller.  He  is  very  soft  for 
all  his  bluster,  and  cowardly  as  an  old  hen.  You 
see  there,  children,"  he  added,  turning  to  us, 
"one  who  has  not  learnt  the  lesson  of  the  woods. 
He  does  not  understand  what  it  means  to  re- 


HECTOB.  271 


•spect  the  lives  of  others,  or  he  would  never  have 
conceived  the  idea  of  putting  himself  between 
Irma  and  her  happiness."  He  folded  the  letter 
as  he  spoke,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  "  Count 
upon  me,  Pierre,"  he  said  ;  "  I  will  do  what  I 
can.  And  you,  children,  you  are  very  good  and 
sensible  to  have  saved  the  letter  and  brought  it 
here  so  quickly.  Shall  you  be  able,  now,  do  you 
think,  to  hold  your  tongues  about  it  to  everyone, 
even  to  your  grandmother  herself  .-'  " 

We  readily  promised  what  he  asked,  and  he 
went  away  down  the  road  like  a  man  who  has  a 
plan  in  his  head. 

When  we  got  back  to  Salaret  we  found  that 
the  miller  had  already  been  there,  and  from  what 
Grand'mere  was  saying  to  Sceur  Amelie,  we 
understood  that  he  had  asked  Grand'mere's  per- 
mission to  marry,  and  that  Grand'mere  had 
granted  it  with  pleasure,  still  thinking  that 
Marie  Monthez  was  to  be  his  bride.  All  was 
not  settled,  he  had  told  her,  yet,  but  it  was  his 
intention  to  come  and  ask  for  her  consent  in 
form,  after  his  return  from  Montfort. 

Our  promise  to  Esquebesse  kept  us  tongue- 
tied,  and  when  we  had  heard  all  there  was  to 
hear  we  ran  into  the  yard,  that  we  might  not  be 
tempted    to   speak   of  the  subject  so   near  our 


272  HECTOR. 

hearts.     But  even  there  among  the  new  soldiers 
we  were  not  to  forget  it. 

Instead  of  the  red  legs  and  blue  coats  to  which 
our  eyes  had  now  become  accustomed,  we  saw 
in  the  yard  and  washhouse  a  mass  of  dull,  dark 
green. 

"  What  regiment  do  you  belong  to  .■*  "  Hector 
asked  of  the  first  man  we  reached. 

"  What  regiment,  my  little  chap  ?  "  he  replied, 
turning  on  us  a  face  as  bright  as  a  polished  ap- 
ple, "  the  best  regiment  in  the  whole  service  of 
France — the  Little  Chasseurs." 

They  had  come  at  last.  Though  we  knew 
now  that  we  were  not  to  expect  Georges,  it  was 
a  pleasure  to  us  to  see  his  regiment,  and  indeed 
they  were,  of  all  the  soldiers  we  had  received, 
the  brightest  and  most  good-humored. 

Tired !  they  said,  in  answer  to  our  enquiries. 
Not  they.  A  march  of  twenty  kilometres  might 
tire  those  hulking  infantry  men,  but  as  for  them 
they  would  undertake  to  run  forty  at  their  little 
trot,  and  be  as  fresh  at  the  end  as  at  the  begm 
ning.  Hungry  !  Ah  bah  !  when  you  were  hun- 
gry in  time  of  war  you  must  tighten  your  belt. 
That  was  dinner  enough  for  soldiers.  Never- 
theless they  did  ample  justice  to  Madelon's  soup 
and  haricots,    and  Grand'm^re's   good  wine  in- 


UECTOE.  273 


clined  them  to  conversation.  Yes,  several  of 
them  knew  Georges,  and  those  who  did  were 
loud  in  his  praise,  but  they  said  he  would  never 
make  a  soldier.  And  when  Madelon  asked  why 
not,  one  of  them  laughed  and  said,  "he  has  his 
sweetheart  in  this  country,  has  he  not  ? "  and 
another,  a  gray-haired  sergeant,  said,  turning 
round  to  Madelon,  "  You  may  tell  her  from  me, 
Martin  Lamotte,  friend  of  her  betrothed,  that  she 
is  a  fortunate  woman.  I  am  an  old  soldier  now, 
I  have  seen  plenty  of  service  and  plenty  of  men, 
and  I  have  never  seen  a  conscript  better  behaved 
than  that  same  Georges,  nor  a  soldier  more  reg- 
ular in  his  duty,  though  he  does  not  love  it,  and 
more  faithful  to  his  home.  La  bas  at  Montfort 
he  has  never  done  a  thing  that  he  would  not 
have  done  in  his  own  village.  It  is  righ't  that 
she  should  know  this,  for  it  gives  a  good  girl 
courage  to  know  the  goodness  of  her  man." 

It  gave  us  courage,  too,  for  after  this  Hector 
and  I  felt  more  than  ever  assured  that  Georges 
and  the  miller  were  like  goodness  and  wicked- 
ness opposed. 

We  were  up  long  before  daylight  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning,  and  the  first  glimmer  of  sun 
found  us  swinging  on  Lagrace's  gate,  for  we 
longed  to  tell  Irma  what  Lamotte  had  said ;  but 
18 


274  HECTOR. 


it  was  not  Irma  who  came  earliest  into  the  yard. 
Lagrace's  voice  saluted  our  ears. 

"What  do3^ou  want?"  he  enquired  from  the 
end  of  the  yard. 

"We  want  to  speak  to  Irma,"  Hector  replied. 

"  She  is  not  there." 

Hearing  the  voices,  Irma  herself  appeared  on 
the  threshold,  but  her  father  turned  round  and 
said  sharply,  "  You  go  in.  If  you  did  your  duty 
you  would  find  other  things  to  occupy  yourself 
than  with  idle   gossiping." 

"  It  doesn't  matter  at  all,"  Hector  said,  in  a 
voice  loud  enough  for  Irma  to  hear ;  "  it  will  do 
when  she  comes  for  the  milk." 

He  meant  it  as  a  hint  to  her  that  she  was  to 
come  herself  for  the  milk,  but  Lagrace  replied  : 

"  She  won't  fetch  any  milk.  We  can't  afford 
to  pay  for  it  now,  and  we  must  do  without." 

Irma  re-entered  the  house  in  obedience  to  her 
father's  command,  but  as  she  went  she  laid  her 
hand  upon  her  breast  and  smiled  at  us.  We 
took  that  to  mean  that  she  had  Georges'  letter, 
and  that  she  thanked  Hector  for  saving  it,  but 
we  had  no  further  opportunity  of  discovering 
whether  this  was  the  case,  for  though  we  return- 
ed several  times  during  the  morning,  and  hung 
about  the  yard  of  the   metairie,  we  did  not  sue- 


HECTOR.  275 


ceed  in  seeing  Irma  again.  Madame  Lagrace 
came  and  went  and  scowled  at  us  from  time  to 
time.  We  got  nothing  else  for  our  pains.  At 
last,  towards  half-past  eight,  it  became  evident 
that  Irma  was  not  to  be  allowed  to  leave  the 
house,  for  when  the  children  came  out  with  their 
caps  and  bags  ready  for  the  Salle  d'Asile  one  of 
the  big  boys  came  up  from  the  vineyard  to  take 
charge  of  them.  This  took  away  our  last  hope 
of  seeing  Irma,  and  Hector  then  announced  that 
we  must  be  content  to  go  for  Georges  without 
speaking  to  her  any  more. 

Now,  though  Hector  had  certainly  said,  as 
plainly  as  words  could  say  it,  that  he  intended 
to  let  Georges  know  what  was  going  on,  I  had 
never  even  conceived  the  possibility  of  going 
ourselves  to  find  him,  and  on  this  subject  Hec 
tor  and  I  had  the  only  struggle  which  ever  dis 
turbed  our  friendship.  His  plan  was  to  get 
from  Pierre  the  three  napoleons,  which  up  to 
that  da)  hac  remained  in  the  forge,  to  leave 
Salaret  secretly,  to  make  our  way  as  we  best 
could  to  Montfort,  and  having  found  Georges,  to 
bring  him  back  with  us  before  the  week  which 
Irma  had  given  us  was  out.  Just  as  with  regard 
to  Irma  his  one  thought  was  that  she  should 
keep  her  promise  to  Georges,  so  now  he  concen- 


276  HECTOR. 

trated  his  whole  mind  upon  finding  the  ways 
and  means  of  fulfilling  his  promise  given  to 
Irma.  That  seemed  to  him  right,  and  he  would 
admit  no  other  thought  at  all. 

I,  on  the  contrary;"  was  overwhelmed  with  a 
sense  of  the  awful  naughtiness  of  running  away 
without  Grand'm^re's  permission,  leaving  her 
and  the  household  to  suffer  agonies  of  anxiety 
for  a  week,  and  I  found  courage  to  dispute  the 
point  with  Hector,  and  to  tell  him  that  I  thought 
his  plan  was  wicked. 

He  listened  to  my  arguments  at  first  with 
some  surprise,  and  then,  with  a  thoughtful, 
steady  expression  on  his  countenance,  which  I 
remember  to  this  day — 

"  Girls  seem  to  think  a  great  deal  of  anxiety," 
he  said,  when  I  had  done  ;  "  but  a  little  anxiety 
doesn't  really  matter  when  it  is  over.  I  think 
Grand'mere  herself  would  say  afterwards  that  it 
is  better  for  her  to  be  a  little  unhappy  for  a 
week,  than  for  Irma  to  be  unhappy  all  her  life. 
And  the  thing  is  that,  though  of  course  we  don't 
love  other  people  as  much  as  we  love  Grand'- 
mere, what  happens  to  them  is  just  as  impor- 
tant,"— he  hesitated  as  though  not  easily  able  to 
find  words  in  which  to  express  his  meaning — 
"well,  I  mean  just  as  important  to  God." 


HECTOR.  277 

I  had  exhausted  myself  in  argument,  and  I 
found  nothing  more  now  to  say,  for  I  was  not 
accustomed  to  oppose  him.  Still  I  suppose  he 
saw  that  I  was  not  convinced,  for  he  continued 
after  a  pause  : 

"  Even  if  I  had  not  promised,  we  ought  to  go 
for  Georges.  Irma  is  there  at  work,  she  cannot 
go  tO'him.  He  is  doing  his  work  at  Montfort, 
he  cannot  be  running  back  here  on  chance  to 
see  if  she  wants  him,  and  here  we  are  rich,  and 
idle,  and  gentlemen  whose  chief  duty  it  is  to 
help  other  people.  Why  we  must  go.  If  we 
are  going  to  sit  and  be  rich  and  do  nothing,  we 
shall  be  as  bad  as  the  worst  aristocrats  Esque- 
besse  and  Dr.  Charles  ever  talked  of,  Zelie, 
you  know  you  think  so  too,  and  what's  the  good 
of  thinking  unless  you're  going  to  do  like  your 
thoughts  .'' " 

He  spoke  very  slowly,  and  as  the  words  fell 
from  his  lips,  many  conversations,  which  I  have 
not  repeated,  came  back  to  my  mind, —  conver- 
sations with  Dr.  Charles  and  Esquebesse,  in 
which  the  drift  had  been  always  the  same — that 
the  duty  of  the  gentleman  was  to  work  for 
others.  It  was  a  favorite  topic  of  talk  with  us, 
and  I  had  loved  to  hear  about  it,  for  it  made  me 
feel  proud  to  be  a  lady,  but  I  had  never  thought 


278  HECTOR. 

that  to  carry  it  out  would  bring  one  into  posi- 
tions like  this.  Indeed,  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
ever  thought  much  about  carrying  it  out  at  all, 
and  now,  instead  of  feeling  that  Hector's  plan 
was  wicked,  I  began  to  feel  as  though  he  were  a 
stronger,  and  better,  and  wiser  kind  of  creature 
than  I.  It  flashed  through  my  mind  that  it  was 
by  doing  like  their  thoughts  that  men  grew 
great,  and  at  the  same  time  I  felt  that  I  never 
should  be  great,  for  instead  of  wishing  to  do  a 
lady's  duty  I  could  only  think  of  Grand'm^re 
going  about  with  the  same  sad,  quiet  face  she 
had  worn  during  the  war,  and  taking  blame  to 
herself,  as  I  knew  she  would,  that  she  had  not 
watched  us  more  carefully. 

"  Hector !  "  I  faltered.  But  he  would  not  help 
me.     He  waited  for  me  to  decide. 

"  Oh,  I  cannot !  "  I  burst  out  at  last ;  "  it 
would  be  too  cruel." 

I  expected  him  to  scold  me.  I  expected  him 
to  try  and  persuade  me  still.  But  he  did  not. 
There  was  a  little  pause,  and  then  he  said,  in 
the  cold  indifferent  voice  he  used  to  speak  in 
when  first  he  came  to  us : 

"  Very  well.  I  shall  go  alone.  And  remem- 
ber you  are  bound,  at  all  events,  by  your  promise 
to  Esquebesse,  not  to  say  anything  about  the 


HECTOR.  279 

matter,  nor  to  tell  anyone  where  I  am  gone. 
Only  I  shan't  tell  you  any  of  my  plans,  because," 
and  he  turned  away  rather  contemptuously,  "  of 
course  I  don't  know  now  whether  you'll  keep 
your  promise  to  Esquebesse  any  better  than 
your  promise  to  me." 

For  the  first  time  I  remembered  my  promise 
to  him  on  the  hill.  And  he  had  not  taken  it 
from  me  unawares ;  he  had  warned  me  that  if  I 
said  "yes"  it  must  be  in  earnest.  Something 
seemed  to  glue  my  lips  together,  I  could  not 
speak. 

"  But  I  suppose,"  Hector  continued,  "  that 
you  would  like  Irma  to  be  helped  if  you  don't 
have  to  do  anything  disagreeable." 

The  slight  emphasis  he  laid  upon  the  "  if " 
stung,  as  I  suppose  he  meant  it  to  do.  Yes,  I 
was  like  the  women  he  had  said  he  would  hate. 
I  had  said  "  yes  "  with  my  heart  full  of  "  ifs."  I 
was  unfaithful.  I  was  untrustworthy.  He  would 
always  hate  me.  And  yet  it  didn't  seem  wicked 
to  think  of  Grand'mere  too.  My  head  spun  with 
a  confusion  of  thought  too  strong  for  me. 

"Hector,"  I  could  only  say,  "did  you  mean 
then  to  go  to  Montfort.='" 

"  Of  course  I  did." 

He  seemed  to  be  waiting  still  for  my  decision. 


28o  HECTOR. 

I  had  promised.  He  had  trusted  me.  When  he 
had  to  decide  between  a  lot  of  things  right  and 
wrong,  he  chose  one  and  stuck  to  it.  I  felt  for 
a  moment  like  an  utter  fool,  wavering  about 
from  side  to  side,  and  then  suddenly,  I  scarcely 
know  how,  my  resolution  formed  itself  clear  and 
strong.  I  also  would  choose  one  right  and  stick 
to  it. 

**  I  will  keep  my  promise,"  I  said  ;  "  I  will 
do  whatever  you  want." 

"  You  won't  change  this  time  ?  "  he  asked,  but 
the  brilliant  smile  he  gave  me  showed  that  he 
knew  I  would  not. 

I  had  only  time  to  shake  my  head  when 
Madelon  appeared,  out  of  breath  and  furious, 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  then  .■'"she  ex- 
claimed, at  sight  of  us;  "are  you  losing  your 
heads  completely,  idlers  that  you  are.  Here's  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  that  the  Sister  has  been  wait- 
ing for  you  in  the  dining-room,  and  I  running 
like  a  madwoman  all  over  the  farm  to  find  you." 
A  vigorous  shake  to  me  concluded  the  sentence. 
Trees,  sky,  and  earth  were  mixed  up  before  me 
for  a  moment,  and  when  I  had  recovered  myself 
sufficiently  to  feel  sure  that  my  head  was  still 
upon  my  shoulders,  the  trees  still  rooted  as  usual 
in   the  ground,  and  the  sky  at  a  safe  distance 


HECTOR. 


above  us,  Hector  was  swinging  his  legs  upon  a 
chestnut  branch  above  our  heads. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said  to  Madelon,  "  if  you  were 
to  shake  me  the  way  you  have  just  shaken  Zelie, 
I  shouldn't  have  a  clear  thought  again  for  a 
week,  and  I  shall  need  all  the  powers  of  my 
mind  before  I  have  done  with  Soeur  Amelie  to- 
day, for  I've  not  learnt  a  single  lesson,  and  she'll 
give  it  to  me,  unless  I  can  make  them  up  fast 
enough."  Then,  seized  apparently  with  a  sud- 
den access  of  wild  spirits,  he  began  to  give  us, 
on  the  chestnut  branch,  a  representation  of  Soeur 
Amelie  upraiding  him  severely  for  his  idleness, 
and  waxing  more  and  more  angry  as  she  talked. 
He  imitated  so  well  her  cracked  yet  sweet  voice, 
he  chose  so  exactly  the  expressions  she  used,  he 
agitated  his  legs  in  such  a  ridiculous  way  to  rep- 
resent her  little  flustered  manner,  that  I  gained 
by  my  laughter  a  sounding  box  on  the  ear  from 
Madelon,  who  still  held  me  tight. 

"Ah,  rascal!"  she  shouted  to  Hector,  '*ha, 
barefoot !  That  is  how  you  mock  at  people.  It's 
I  who  would  whack  you  if  I  could  lay  my  hands 
on  you." 

"Calm  yourself,  dear  sister,"  he  replied,  in 
[he  tone  of  Soeur  Amelie,  "these  rages  are  bad 
for  the  soul." 


282  HECTOR. 

But  the  words  were  no  sooner  out  of  his  mouth 
than  he  was  seized  with  a  burst  of  chuckling, 
and,  turning  round  to  follow  the  direction  of  his 
eyes,  I  saw  Soeur  Amelie  herself  standing  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  path. 

She  had  not  heard  anything,  and  Hector  drop- 
ped quietly  from  the  tree.  But  as  she  advanced 
towards  us  she  began  to  reproach  him  in  the 
very  terms  he  had  been  using.  There  was  just 
difference  enough  between  her  voice  and  the 
voice  he  had  assumed,  to  make  the  effect  irre- 
sistibly funny,  and  again  my  unfortunate  inclina- 
tion to  laugh  got  the  better  of  me.  I  shook 
under  Madelon's  restraining  hand,  and  this  put 
the  finishing  touch  to  her  honest  exasperation. 

"Ah  yes,  ma  Soeur,"  she  exclaimed,  "it  is 
time  for  you  to  come.  They  have  neither  heart 
nor  law,  these  children,  and  they  are  mocking 
you  as  if  you  were  the  puppet  of  a  travelling 
dentist." 

In  an  instant  of  course  the  picture  flashed  be- 
fore our  eyes  of  Soeur  Amelie  doing  lay  figure 
to  a  quack  dentist  in  the  market-place,  and  it 
was  too  much.  Hector  and  I  made  no  further 
attempt§  to  contain  ourselves,  but  laughed  until 
the  tears  ran  down  our  cheeks. 

"  What   is    this } "    asked     Soeur   Amelie,    all 


HECTOR.  2S3 

ready  to  be  o^ended.  "  What  is  the  meaning 
of  this  ? " 

"Oh,  ma  Soeur !"  I  explained,  hastening  to 
appease  her  wrath  ;  "  we  beg  your  pardon,  but 
we  were  there  in  the  mood  to  laugh  and  be  silly, 
and  Madelon  says  something  which  finishes  us 
off.  We  did  not  know  the  time,  or  we  would 
have  been  waiting  for  you  indoors." 

"  My  remembrance  of  yesterday  does  not  dis- 
pose me  to  laughter,"  Soeur  Amelie  said,  in  the 
tone  of  one  who  reserves  his  judgment;  "but 
we  shall  see  in  the  house  if  the  work  done  for  me 
justifies  this  merriment." 

"Ah,  yes  ! "  said  Madelon,  "  it  is  I  who  would 
justify  their  merriment  for  them.  Taking  me 
out  from  my  work  like  this,  and  Madame  Lous- 
tanoff  away,  consequently  double  to  do  in  the 
same  time." 

Grand'mere  had  gone  very  early  to  a  funeral 
on  the  other  side  of  Cassagne,  and  was  to  stay 
and  dine  in  the  town.  She  would  not,  therefore, 
return  till  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  with  the 
burden  of  Hector's  unlearnt  lessons  beginning 
to  lie  heavy  on  my  conscience,  I  was,  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life,  glad  of  her  absence. 

Hector  was  in  one  of  his  wild  moods.  Instead 
of  seeming  depressed  by  the  recollection  of  his 


284  HECTOR. 

work  undone,  he  was  in  a  condition  of  the  high- 
est spirits.  His  eyes  were  bright,  his  mouth 
ready  to  curl  into  laughter  on  the  smallest  provo- 
cation, his  face,  wreathed  as  it  was  with  good- 
humored  smiles,  seemed  more  than  ever  alive 
with  intelligence  and  resolution.  Knowing  well 
the  kind  of  scene  which  was  likely  to  ensue  when 
Soeur  Amelie  discovered  that  he  had  done  no 
work  for  her,  I  trembled  as  we  took  our  places 
at  the  table,  but  Hector  did  not  seem  even  then 
to  give  his  lessons  a  thought. 

It  was  Soeur  Amelie's  habit  always  to  hear 
mine  first,  and  if  Hector  would  have  busied  him- 
self looking  over  his,  I  could  have  stammered 
and  hesitated  a  little,  and  drawn  out  my  repetition 
till  he  had  had  time  to  gain  at  least  some  notion 
of  what  he  had  to  say.  But,  in  spite  of  the  kicks 
I  gave  him  under  the  table,  he  did  not  so  much 
as  remember  to  find  the  places.  He  sat  with 
his  books  closed  gazing  out  through  the  open 
window,  yet  evidently  seeing  as  little  of  what 
went  on  outside  as  he  heard  of  what  was  going 
on  inside.  He  was  thinking,  thinking  hard,  as 
I  could  see  by  the  brightness  of  his  eyes,  and 
the  firm  set  of  his  brow.  I  felt  sure  that  he  was 
planning  in  his  mind  the  details  of  our  flight  to 
Montfort,  and  in  the  distraction  caused  by  my 


HECTOR.  285 

desire  on  his  account  to  draw  his  attention  to  his 
lessons,  and  my  desire  on  my  account  to  know 
the  result  of  his  thoughts,  I  had  very  nearly,  by 
my  manner  of  saying  my  lessons,  drawn  down 
upon  my  own  head  the  indignation  I  dreaded  for 
him.  This  did  not  dispose  Soeur  Amelie  to  in- 
dulgence, and  it  was  with  her  severest  manner 
that  she  turned  presently  to  Hector. 

"  Eh,  what !  My  lessons  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
coming  only  half  back  to  the  present  moment. 
"  Yes,  of  course ;  where  are  my  books  .■' "  he 
started  up  to  look  for  them,  and  Soeur  Amelie 
asked  him  what  he  meant  when  they  were 
already  on  the  table. 

"  What  was  it  I  had  to  say .-' "  he  asked,  as  he 
began  to  turn  over  the  leaves. 

"  That  is,  surely,  for  you  to  know." 

"  But  I  don't  know.  I  don't  remember  in  the 
least." 

"  You  can't  have  learnt  them  very  well  in 
such  a  case.     Find  the  place." 

Hector  was  evidently  completely  puzzled. 

"  But  it  is  ridiculous  to  tell  me  to  find  a  place 
when  I  don't  know  what  place  to  look  for.  I 
don't  remember  a  bit  more  what  I  had  to  learn 
than  if  I  had  never  seen  one  of  these  books." 

"In  laughing  as  you  did  at  Madclon's  inno- 


286  HECTOR. 

cent  remark,  you  have  shown  me  enough  for  one 
morning  that  you  think  me  ridiculous.  But  I 
am  not  so  ridiculous  as  to  be  taken  in  by  this 
idle  pretence.  It  is  impossible  for  anyone  to 
learn  a  lesson  and  forget  completely  what  it  is 
about.     You  will  find  the  place  yourself," 

"  But  I  didn't  learn  my  lesson." 

"Ah  !  for  once,  this  is  too  much  ; — to  tell  me 
you  have  not  learnt  your  lesson  in  order  that 
you  may  uphold  your  own  obstinacy.  Find  the 
place  at  once." 

Hector  wrinkled  his  brow,  gazed  at  her  with 
the  puzzled,  almost  idiotic,  expression  his  face 
could  sometimes  wear,  and  began  without  a  word 
to  turn  the  pages  aimlessly.  Gradually  his  eyes 
went  towards  the  window,  and,  as  they  gazed 
outwards,  brightened  again,  the  puzzled  expres- 
sion died  away,  and  his  countenance  became 
once  more  a  picture  of  eager  resolution.  But  as 
I  began  to  hope  that  the  returned  brightness 
meant  awakening  memory,  and  that  he  would  be 
able  in  a  moment  to  remember  where  his  lesson 
was,  I  perceived  that  the  book  was  dropping 
from  his  listless  hands.  Another  glance  at  his 
face  convinced  me  that  his  thoughts  were  far 
away  from  Sceur  Amelie  and  lessons.  I  longed 
to  recall  him,  yet  feared  to  attract  Soeur  Am6- 


HECTOR.  287 


lie's  attention ;  and,  between  the  fascination 
of  watching  Hector,  and  a  wish  to  keep  the  Sis- 
ter in  a  good  humor  by  a  show  of  determined 
industry,  my  brain,  never  strong,  was  soon  in  a 
pitiable  condition.  "  Twice  two  are  three,"  I 
repeated,  audibly  and  fervently;  "  twice  four  are 
six,  twice  seven  are  twenty-one."  I  was  work- 
ing hard  putting  down  the  figures  as  fast  as  I 
could  say  them,  and,  to  my  surprise,  the  slate 
was  snatched  out  of  my  hands,  the  whole  sum 
rubbed  out,  and  I  ordered  to  begin  again.  I 
had  not  the  slightest  idea  why;  and  now  tears 
came  to  add  to  my  mental  confusion.  It  must 
be  confessed  that  we  were  very  aggravating. 

"  Hector,"  said  Soeur  Amelie,  at  length  ;  "do 
you  intend  to  do  any  lessbns  this  morning,  or  do 
you  wish  to  convey  to  me,  by  your  behaviour, 
that  my  coming  here  is  a  farce,  and  that  you  are 
in  a  state  of  open  rebellion  against  the  authority 
Madame  I.oustanoff  sets  over  you." 

Hector  did  not  hear  the  beginning  of  this 
speech.  Grand'merc's  name  awakened  his  atten- 
tion, and  he  was  evidently  guessing  at  the  sense 
of  the  words,  as  he  replied  : 

"  I  don't  rebel  against  Gtand'm^re's  author- 
ity." 

"  But  you  are  ready  to  rebel   against  mine," 


BECTOE. 


exclaimed  Soeur  Amelie.  "  Well,  no ;  it  shall 
not  be.  Because  Madame  Loustanoff  is  not 
here  you  think  you  can  do  as  you  like.  But  I 
will  act ;  I  also.  If  you  do  not  say  those  lessons 
to  me,  and  do  what  else  you  have  to  do  before  I 
leave  you,  you  shall  go  up  to  your  own  room, 
and  I  will  ask  Madelon  to  watch  that  you  do  not 
leave  it  till  Madame  Loustanoff  returns." 

Madelon  hearing  her  own  name,  came  to  the 
dining-room  door,  and  her  presence  seemed  to 
aggravate  Hector,  for  he  replied  with  open 
defiance : 

"  Madelon  would  have  something  to  do  to 
keep  me  in  my  room  if  I  wanted  to  get  out,  for 
she  can't  lock  the  window,  and  as  soon  as  her 
back  is  turned  I  would  get  down  by  the  pine 
tree. 

"Yes,  my  lad,"  said  Madelon;  "but  there  is 
no  pine  tree  by  the  hayloft^  and  that,  with  the 
Sister-'s  permission,  is  where  I  will  put  you. 
Then,  with  the  ladder  taken  away,  you  may  kick 
your  heels  at  your  pleasure.  You  are  caged  till 
Madame  Loustanoff  returns." 

"Well,  just  try,"  said  Hector;  "I  won't  go  up 
of  my  own  accord,  and  if  you're  strong  enough 
to  carry  me  up,  I'll  jump  out  of  one  of  the 
granary  windows." 


HECTOR.  289 


"  Ah,  it's  easy  talking  when  we're  on  the  soHd 
ground,  but  when  we  are  Up  at  a  window,  some 
fourteen  or  fifteen  feet  above  the  ground,  we 
remember  that  legs  and  arms  will  break,  and  we 
don't  take  these  airy  jumps.  I'm  ready,  ma 
Soeur ;  I  have  good  strong  arms,  and  when  you 
need  me,  you  have  only  to  give  me  a  call.  It  is 
I  who  will  have  pleasure  in  locking  up  my  little 
gentleman." 

Madelon  returned  to  the  scouring  of  her  pots, 
and  Soeur  Amelie  reiterated  her  threat  to  Hector. 
Hector  now  was  no  longer  absent ;  he  was 
bitterly  offended. 

"I  think  it  is  a  shame  ! "  he  said,  with  flushed 
cheeks,  and  something  like  tears  of  indignation 
moistening  his  eyes.  "  I  have  told  you  quite 
honestly  that  I  forget  what  I  had  to  learn.  You 
won't  tell  me  what  it  is,  and  yet  you  say  you 
•sNiW  lock  me  up  if  I  don't  learn  it.  How  can  I 
do  what  is  impossible  }  " 

"The  only  impossibility  in*the  matter,"  Soeur 
Amelie  returned,  "  is  that  you  can  have  forgot- 
ten what  you  had  to  learn,  and  that  subterfuge 
shall  not  serve.  I  will  not  be  taken  in  by  it  for 
a  moment.  No ;  not  even  so  far  as  to  tell  you 
again  what  lessons  you  had  to  learn." 

"  May  I  tell  him,  ma  Soeur  ?  "  I  begged.  "  I 
19 


290  HECTOR. 

remember  what  they  were,  and  he  will  learn 
them  in  a  minute  once  he  knows." 

But  my  interposition  only  increased  Soeur 
Amelie's  anger. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Zelie,  and  confine  your- 
self to  doing  your  own  work.  If  you,  Whom 
they  did  not  concern,  can  remember  what  they 
were,  it  is  another  proof  of  the  absurdity  of 
Hector's  excuse.  He  has  not  forgotten  them  ; 
I  will  not  admit  for  an  instant  that  he  has 
forgotten  them." 

"  Then  I  am  a  liar }  "  said  Hector. 

"  Yes,  you  are  a  liar ;  and  lying  is  a  mortal 
sin." 

"  It's  not  true.  I  have  forgotten  my  lessons, 
I  am  telling  you  the  exact  truth,  and  I  won't 
submit  to  injustice.  If  I  can  help  it,  Madelon 
sha'n't  put  me  into  the  hayloft." 

But  he  could  not  help  it ;  Madelon's  arms 
were  strong,  as  she  said,  she  did  not  scruple  to 
call  in  one  of  the  farm  laborers  to  help  her;  and, 
at  the  end  of  lessons,  Hector  was  carried,  kick- 
ing and  struggling,  into  the  hayloft.  When  he 
was  in,  and  the  ladder  taken  away,  he  stood  at 
the  open  doorway  straightening  his  clothes. 

"Very  well,"  he  said  to  Soeur.  Amelie,  who 
with  Madelon,  and  one  or  two  of  the  laborers, 


HECTOR.  291 


Still  stood  in  the  yard  below,  "  I  shall  not  be 
here  when  Grand'm^re  comes  back,  but  she  will 
know  your  injustice  some  day,  and  I  will  never 
learn  lessons  with  you  again  while  you  go  on 
saying  that  I  am  a  liar." 

"  They  said  he  was  a  liar  ?  "  I  overheard  one 
of  the  laborers  ask  another,  as  everyone  turned 
to  go  their  different  ways. 

"  Yes,  and  he  says  no." 

"It  was  for  that  he  struggled  so  hard?  Ma 
foi !  I  would  have  done  as  much ;  it  is  not 
amusing  to  be  shut  up  there  with  the  rats  for 
something  you  have  not  done." 


292  HECTOR. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

T  DO  not  think  I  have  ever  in  my  life  felt  so 
lonely,  and  so  miserable,  and  as  I  did^  on 
that  day,  when,  scarcely  knowing  what  I  did, 
conscious  only  of  a  dull  rage  in  my  heart  against 
Soeur  Amelie,  against  Madelon,  against  all  the 
world  since  Hector  was  punished,  I  went  away 
into  the  chestnut  wood  to  hide  myself  and  cry, 
leaving  Hector  a  prisoner  in  the  loft. 

Hector  and  I  had  built  ourselves  a  little  hut 
of  branches  between  the  trees,  and  into  that  I 
crept  to  bear  my  misery  alone  as  best  I  could, 
till  Grand'mere  should  return. 

It  is  no  exaggeration  to  call  it  misery.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  suffering  I  endured.  I 
wa»  -always  a  nervous  child,  ready  to  torment 
myself  lest  anything  should  happen  to  the  people 
I  loved,  and  Madelon  had  no  sooner  shut  the 
hayloft  door  and  bolted  it  on  the  outside  with 
the  pitchfork,  than  pictures  had  begun  to  arise 
in  my  mind  of  the  terrible  things  which  Hector 


i 


HECTOR.  293 


might  do.  I  knew  him  well  enough  to  know 
how  intolerable  the  thought  of  waiting  there  for 
Grand'mere  would  be  to  his  proud  spirit,  and  I 
believed  him  capable  of  any  desperate  deed.  He 
might  burst  his  heart,  I  thought,  in  trying  to 
break  down  the  door,  or  he  might  hang  himseif, 
or  he  might  smother  himself  in  one  of  the  heaps 
of  grain,  or,  failing  any  of  these  things,  he 
might  very  likely  faint  with  the  fatigue  and 
emotion  he  had  gone  through,  and  with  what 
would  have  been  to  me  the  terror  of  being  shut 
up  there  alone  in  the  dark  with  the  big  rats,  and 
then  there  would  be  no  one  to  help  him, —  he 
might  die  in  his  faint.  This  was  the  idea  which 
at  last  took  possession  of  me.  It  was  in  vain 
that  I  tried  to  drive  it  away, —  that  I  tried  to 
reason  with  myself.  I  shut  my  eyes  and  would 
have  forced  my  thoughts  to  something  else  —  I 
could  only  see  as  vividly  as  if  it  were  reality, 
Hector  lying  on  the  floor  of  the  hayloft,  stiff 
and  white,  with  the  rats  sniffing  at  him,  and 
running  over  his  body, — and  the  impossibility  of 
reaching  him  became  an  agony,  I  dcn't  know 
how  long  I  had  been  there ;  I  was  lying  on  the 
floor  of  the  hut,  not  crying,  but  in  a  state  of  still 
pain,  in  which  every  minute  that  went  by  was 
hard    to    bear,    when    the    sound    of    footsteps 


294  HECTOR. 


attracted  my  attention.  The  next  moment 
Hector  himself  stood  on  the  threshold.  Hec- 
tor himself,  as  cool  and  unconcerned  as  usual. 

"  Oh,  Zelie  !  "  he  said,  "  you  here  ? — that  is 
jolly!  —  now  you'll  be  able  to  get  me  some 
dinner," 

His  voice  brought  me  in  some  measure  back 
to  myself. 

"  They  have  let  you  out .'' "  I  managed  to  ask. 

"They  haven't  let  me  out  ;  I  jumped  out  at 
the  back  through  one  of  the  granary  windows  — 
it's  quite  easy.  But  it's  past  twelve,  and  dinner 
looked  to  me  quite  ready  when  I  peeped  through 
the  chinks  of  the  hayloft  door.  You'd  better 
go  down  to  the  house.  Only  look  here  !  isn't 
this  a  queer  little  beetle ;  I  picked  it  off  the 
ground  just  now  as  I  was  coming  up." 

He  stretched  out  to  me  a  hand  which  he  had 
till  jiow  kept  closed,  and  on  the  palm  I  saw  a 
beetle  somewhat  different  from  any  we  had  yet 
found  in  the  woods. 

It  gave  me  a  strange  indefinable  feeling  of 
respect  for  him  to  think  that  while  I  had  been 
lying  on  the  ground  incapable,  in  that  causeless 
agony  of  apprehension,  he  with  everything  to  do 
had  been  cool  enough  to  observe  a  strange  beetle 
on  his  path.     I  took  hold  of  the  tips  of  his  finger 


HECTOR.  295 

and  leaned  over  to  look  at  the  insect ;  but  sud 
denly  the  hand  and  the  beetle  became  blurred 
beneath  my  eyes.  I  bent  my  head  lower  that 
Hector  might  not  see,  and  before  I  could  help  it 
tears  were  dropping  upon  his  palm. 

"  Why,  Zelie,"  he  said,  "  what's  the  matter  .?  " 
And,  as  I  raised  my  face,  and  he  looked  for  the 
first  time  attentively  at  me.  "  You  have  been 
crying  a  wholelot  before,  too  !  Have  they  been 
doing  anything,  to  you  ?  " 

"No,"  I  said,  "no!" 

"Why  have  you  been  crying  then  .■'" 

"  It  was  for  you." 

"  For  me .''  Do  you  really  care  about  me, 
Zdlifc .? " 

His  voice  softened  so  suddenly  that  I  gave 
him  a  hearty  hug.  He  for  the  first  time  hugged 
me  too ;  and  after  that  we  both  found  ourselves 
laughing. 

I  felt  so  happy,  then,  that  nothing  seemed  to 
me  to  matter.  It  was  without  a  scrap  of  fear, 
rather  with  joy,  at  the  prospect  of  braving  an 
adventure  for  Hector's  sake,  that  I  ran  away 
presently  to  dine  myself,  and  bring  him  back  the 
materials  for  a  meal. 

As  Madelon  and  I  were  alone,  our  dinner  did 
not   take   long.     I    had    a    moment   of    anxiety 


296  RECTOR. 

when,  after  we  had  finished,  she  took  a  piece  of 
bread  and  a  bowl  of  soup,  and  mounted  the  lad- 
der to  the  hayloft.  But  she  did  not  go  hi.  She 
contented  herself  with  setting  the  bowl  down 
just  inside  the  door  and  quietly  drew  the  bolt 
again,  as  if  afraid  that  Hector  might  recommence 
the  fight.  I,  for  all  my  anxiety,  took  care  to 
profit  by  her  absence  to  secure  some  of  the  salt 
goose  we  had  been  'eating,  and  some  bread  and 
cheese,  and  a  few  minutes  later  I  arrived  in 
safety  at  the  hut  with  a  well-filled  basket  in  my 
hands.  I  had  passed  round  by  fowl-house  and 
garden  and  vineyard,  where  eggs  and  salad  and 
grapes  had  been  added  to  the  spoil  I  brought 
from  the  house,  and  Hector  welcomed  all  with 
glee.  It  was  the  work  of  two  or  three  minutes 
to  kindle  a  fire  of  dry  sticks  in  the  hut.  I  knew 
quite  enough  about  cookery  to  be  able  to  pre- 
pare a  simple  meal,  and  I  had  soon  the  pride  and 
delight  of  seeing  Hector  beam  with  satisfaction 
over  an  omelette  which  he  held  in  a  painfully 
hot  plate  upon  his  knees.  His  only  seat  was  a 
bundle  of  sticks,  table  there  was  none,  one  plate 
constituted  the  entire  dinner  service,  but  his 
appetite  seemed-  limitless ;  he  ate  heartily  of 
everything  I  had  brought,  and,  as  his  spirits 
rose  to  rollicking  pitch,  with  the  satisfaction  of 


HECTOR.  297 


his  hunger,  mine  too  rose  so  high  that  if  I  had 
had  a  wish,  it  would  have  been  that  it  might  be 
supper  time,  and  he  hungry  again  to  give  me 
again  the  joy  of  feeding  him.  This  was  the  first 
time  I  had  had  an  opportunity  of  really  serving 
him  ; — I  had  been  able  to  do  it  well.  He  was 
satisfied  with  me ; — I  can  understand  still  that  I 
was  happy. 

It  was  a  good  beginning  to  our  journey  to 
Montfort.  When  Hector  presently  told  me  to 
gather  up  what  scraps  remained,  as  we  did  not 
know  where  we  might  sup  that  night,  I  remem- 
bered, in  spite  of  the  pain  at  my  heart  his  words 
awaked,  that  Grand'mere  had  herself  said, 
"Where  one  goes  the  other  must  go," — and  I 
was  glad  to  think  that  whatever  happened  I 
should  be  with  him.  The  steadiness  of  his  reso- 
lution served  me  for  resolution,  and  my  scruples 
ceased  to  torment  me.  Possibly  he  was  mis- 
taken in  going ;  but  since  he  went,  my  duty  was 
clearly  enough  to  stick  to  him.  I  don't  quite 
know  why  the  act  of  getting  his  dinner  for  him 
should  have  made  this  plain  in  my  mind,  but  it 
did,  and  I  worried  him  with  no  remonstrance 
when  he  announced  that  we  should  not  return 
to  the  house  again.  I  only  felt  as  if  somebody 
had  taken  hold  of  my  heart,  and  squeezed  it 
tight  and  hard. 


298  HECTOR. 

Pierre  was  the  only  person  to  whom  we  said 
any  kind  of  good-bye. 

It  was  necessary  to  get  Hector's  money  from 
him,  and  he  was  evidently  surprised  that  we 
should  ask  for  all  three  napoleons  at  once,  when 
they  had  lain  so  long  unthought  of  in  his 
keeping'. 

"  I  hope  I  am  right  to  give  them  to  you,"  he 
said,  "  without  asking  your  grandmother.  You 
are  not  going  to  do  any  folly  with  them,  hein  !  " 

"  I  shall  spend  them  as  a  gentleman  should," 
Hector  replied. 

"  Ah,  my  proud  little  monsieur !  you  will  have 
no  questions  from  an  old  blacksmith  ;  but  if  the 
old  blacksmith  loves  you — " 

"And  if  I  love  the  old  blacksmith,"  Hector 
said,  holding  out  his  hand  with  one  of  his  beau- 
tiful bright  smiles,  "  it  doesn't  follow  that  I  tell 
him  everything  I  am  going  to  do.  When  people 
love  each  other  they  trust  each  other." 

Pierre  took  Hector's  hand  and  shook  it 
heartily. 

"  You  are  right,  my  lad,  you  are  right,"  he 
said  ;  "  I  should  not  have  been  afraid." 

And  with  that  we  went  away. 

I  had  asked  no  question  yet  about  how  we 
were  to  reach  Montfort.     But  presently  Hector 


HECTOB.  299 


turned  to  me  and  asked,  with  the  gentle,  kindly 
manner  he  had  assumed  since  the  morning, 
whether  I  did  not  want  to  know  his  plan,  "  or 
perhaps,"  he  said,  "you  think  it's  so  horrid  of 
me  to  go,  that  you  don't  care  how  we  are  going 
to  do  it  ?  " 

From  that  moment  I  would  not  have  turned 
back  for  all  the  world  ;  and  I  answered  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  that  it  was  I  who  would  be 
horrid  if  I  did  not  wish  to  know  his  plan. 

"  It  is  rather  funny,"  he  said,  with  brighten- 
ing eyes ;  "  come  along,  I  won't  tell  you,  but  I'.U 
show  you  something." 

He  burst  into  one  of  his  happy  chuckles  as  he 
spoke,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  me.  We  jump- 
ed over  the  ditch  together,  and  then  I  raced 
after  him,  where  he  led  me  through  the  woods 
and  down  to  the  river  side  till  we  came  out  oppo- 
site to  the  mill  yard,  where  the  miller  and  Marie 
Anna  were  loading  a  wagon  with  straw. 

"Well,"  I  said,  breathless  and  laughing,  "is 
it  to  admire  the  miller  that  you  have  brought  me 
here  .-'     I  see  nothing." 

"  It  is  to  admire  our  carriage  and  our  coach- 
man." 

And  Hector  turned  a  somersault  in  now  unre- 
pressed  delight. 


300  HECTOR. 


"  M.  Baptiste  himself  shall  drive  us  to  Mont- 
fort,  where  he  goes  to  arrange  all  concerning 
his  marriage.  He  takes  the  wagon,  I  know, 
half-way,  and  we  shall  travel  in  the  straw  as 
comfortably  as  kings  in  a  coach.  The  other  half 
of  the  journey  we  must  manage  for  ourselves." 

"  But,  Hector  !  he  will  never  consent !  " 

"  I  should  rather  think  he  wouldn't  consent  if 
anyone  was  such  a  fool  as  to  ask  him.  But  we 
will  climb  up  there  as  soon  as  it  is  dark,  and  sleep 
on  the  top  of  the  load.  Long  before  daylight  he 
starts,  and  as  he  is  much  too  fat  even  to  think  of 
climbing  up  himself,  he'll  walk  before  us  more 
than  half-way  to  Montfort  without  a  suspicion 
that  two  little  serpents  have  slipped  into  his 
straw.  Don't  you  see  him,  red  and  consequen- 
tial, telling  everyone  he  meets  that  he  has 
business  at  Montfort .-'  " 

It  was  funny  to  think  of,  and  we  had  a  hearty 
laugh  together  as  we  walked  down  into  the  mill- 
yard  to  find  out  one  or  two  things  which  Hector 
still  wanted  to  know  about  the  journey. 

My  breath  came  and  went  uncomfortably  fast 
while,  as  we  watched  the  loading  of  the  cart. 
Hector  asked  point-blank  in  his  usual  cool  and 
simple  fashion  for  all  the  information  we  wanted, 
but  I  suppose  the  miller  thought  it  was  quite 


EECTOE.  301 

natural  that  what  was  interesting  to  him  should 
he  interesting  to  us,  for  he  did  not  seem  in  the 
least  surprised  by  Hector's  questions,  and  told 
us  every  detail  we  wished  to  know.  A  little  inn 
called  the  "  Cruchon  d'Or,"  at  the  branching  of 
the  Montfort  road  towards  Portalouve,  would  be 
his  last  stopping-place,  for  the  house  at  which 
he  was  going  to  leave  the  straw  lay  out  of  the 
direct  road,  and  when  he  had  delivered  the  straw 
and  put  up  his  own  horses,  he  meant  to  continue 
his  road  in  the  public  diligence. 

It  was  still  early  in  the  afternoon  when  we 
left  him,  and  the  hours  seemed  terribly  long  till 
evening,  but  Hector  was  so  gentle  and  loving  to 
me  that  afternoon  that  I  was  not  nearly  so 
unhappy  as  I  should  have  expected  to  be.  We 
took  the  precaution  first  of  filling  our  basket 
with  chestnuts  and  grapes,  so  that  we  might  not 
starve  up  on  the  straw;  and  then  I  believe 
Hector  tried  to  keep  me  amused  and  occupied 
in  order  that  I  might  not  think  too  much  of 
Grand'mere.  We  visited  together  all  our  favorite 
haunts,  and  there  was  only  one  moment  when 
the  pain  of  going  seemed  almost  more  than  I 
could  bear.  It  was  when,  after  the  sun  went 
down,  Hector  called  for  the  last  time  an  assem- 
bly of  the  little  birds. 


302  HECTOR. 

They  came  as  usual  in  answer  to  his  cries, 
wrens  and  robins,  jays  and  thrushes,  larks, 
chaffinches,  and  blackbirds ;  though  I  had  been 
with  him  on  many  bird-calling  expeditions,  I 
had  never  known  them  come  more  quickly  or  in 
greater  numbers,  and  on  any  ordinary  occasion 
it  would  have  been  with  delight,  even  greater 
than  his,  that  I  should  have  welcomed  them. 
But  on  this  day  each  fresh  bird  that  came 
seemed  to  me  another  voice  from  the  woods  and 
from  our  old  life  saying  good-bye  to  us,  and 
when  I  thought  of  how  happy  we  had  been,  I 
could  hardly  keep  myself  from  sobbing  by 
Hector's  side.  Even  now,  when  I  feel  at  all 
inclined  to  be  sad,  the  evening  clamor  of  birds 
always  brings  the  tears  to  my  eyes. 

I  managed  to  control  myself,  because  I  did 
not  want  Hector  to  think  his  plan  made  me 
unhappy,  and  when  the  birds  had  gone  again, 
the  silence  and  darkness  of  night  had  fallen 
upon  the  woods,  and  our  time  of  waiting  was 
over.  Half-an-hour  later  we  were  composing 
ourselves  to  sleep  on  top  of  the  miller's  loaded 
wagon,  and  the  last  thing  I  remember  of  that 
night  is  feeling  Hector  pull  the  straw  round  me 
to  keep  me  warm. 


HECTOR.  303 


CHAPTER    XX. 

TT  yHEN  I  woke  again  we  were  already  out 
'  upon    the    high    road.       Morning    had 

scarcely  come,  for  all  around  us  was  yet  dark, 
and  the  birds  in  the  trees  by  the  roadside  were 
only  just  beginning  to  wake.  But,  away  to  the 
east,  there  was  a  clear  soft  light  in  the  sky,  and 
when  the  freshness  of  the  air  had  fully  waked 
mej  I  could  easily  distinguish  Hector  sitting  up 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  watching  the  dawn.  His 
jacket  was  tucked  round  me.  I  made  him  put  it 
on  again,  and  then  he  lay  down  at  my  side.  It 
was  too  early  for  me  to  wake  up,  he  said,  and  to 
please  him  I  remained  still  as  if  I  were  asleep. 
In  reality,  the  thought  of  Grand'm^re  waking, 
too,  as  I  knew  she  would,  with  the  earliest  dawn, 
to  think  of  us  anxiously,  came  to  me  the  instant 
I  was  awake,  and  after  that,  sleep  was  impossi- 
ble. I  lay  with  eyes  wide  open  in  the  darkness, 
thinking  of  her.  Yet,  even  then,  as  I  listened 
to   Hector's   quiet  breathing,   and   pictured  the 


304  EECTOE. 

dangers  of  the  road,  I  was  glad  that  I  had  not 
let  him  come  alone. 

The  straw  on  which  we  lay  was  piled  so  high 
and  wide  that,  as  the  cart  jolted  slowly  on,  it 
often  brushed  the  branches  of  the  trees  on  either 
side  of  the  road,  and,  amidst  showers  of  dew, 
startled  birds  flew  out  from  time  to  time,  fanning 
our  faces  with  their  wings  as  they  passed  through 
the  keen  air.  We,  moving  along  in  our  nest  so 
high  up,  felt  ourselves  to  be  amongst  them,  and 
the  strangeness  of  driving  between  the  tree 
branches  at  that  dark,  quiet  hour,  with  no  com- 
panions but  the  awakening  birds,  combined  with 
our  thoughts  to  keep  us  both  still  and  silent. 
Twice,  at  long  intervals.  Hector  asked  me  in  a 
low  voice  if  I  felt  frightened,  and  when  the 
second  time  I  whispered  back  that  I  was  not 
going  to  be  frightened  at  all  with  him,  he 
seemed  satisfied,  and  we  said  nothing  more  till 
the  mountain  tops  flamed  with  light,  and  all  the 
country  began  to  wake.  Then,  as  the  birds,  no 
longer  startled,  flew  out  on  every  side  in  search 
of  breakfast,  and  trees  and  hedges  seemed  alive 
with  chirp  and  chatter  and  shrill  song,  as  dogs 
in  all  the  metairies  began  to  bark,  and  oxen 
brought  out  to  labor  lowed  gravely  in  the  morn- 
ing air,  as  the  sound  of  human  voices  came  from 


EECTOB.  305 

the  fields,  and  the  sun  spreading  bright,  lit  up 
the  dewy  vines  and  grasses  far  and  wide.  Hector 
and  I  woke  fully  too,  and  discovered  that,  ilike 
the  birds,  we  wanted  breakfast.  Like  them,  we 
had  to  content  ourselves  with  grapes  and  chest- 
nuts, for  my  basket  held  nothing  else ;  but  we 
were  not  disposed  to  grumble,  for,  in  the  agita- 
tion of  our  grave  adventure,  breakfast  seemed  to 
both  of  us  too  small  a  trifle  to  be  considered. 

We  chatted  a  little  while  we  ate,  but  we  dared 
not  raise  our  voices,  for  fear  the  sound  might 
be  heard  above  the  rattle  of  the  wagon-wheels, 
and  we  soon  sank  back  into  silence  and  the 
companionship  of  our  own  thoughts.  We  could 
not  see  the  miller,  and  the  fun  we  had  antici- 
pated in  making  him  drive  us  unawares  to 
Montfort  was  forgotten.  Hector's  thoughts 
were  evidently  concentrated  on  future  plans, 
and  I  sat  beside  him  looking  back.  The  country 
was  glorious  in  russet  and  crimson  and  gold, 
and  the  deep  blue  of  the  autumn  sky  spread 
tranquil  above  the  mountains,  but,  with  vision  of 
the  heart  more  penetrating  than  bodily  eyes,  I 
saw,  through  all  the  beauty,  only  Grand'm^re 
lonely  ;  and  the  pain  and  pleasure  of  that  morn- 
ing journey  were  so  keenly  mixed,  that  the 
inward  excitement  alone  remains  in  my  memory. 
20 


3o6  HECTOB. 

I  have  no  recollection  of  any  external  incidents 
or  details  till,  when  the  sun  was  almost  directly 
above  our  heads,  Hector  woke  me  from  my 
thouglits  by  the  information  that  we  were  within 
a  kilometre  of  the  "  Cruchon  d'Or."  From  that 
time  I  remember  everything  quite  distinctly. 

We  got  down  from  the  cart  by  means  of  a 
hanging  end  of  straw  rope  which  Hector  twisted 
and  made  fast,  and  we  timed  our  descent  in 
such  a  way  that  almost  as  our  feet  touched  the 
ground,  Baptiste  urged  his  horses  round  the  cor- 
ner to  the  inn.  We  were  thus  left  standing  on 
the  road  alone.  We  were  on  a  little  hill.  We 
could  see  the  white  line  lying  straight  for  miles 
across  the  country. 

"  This  is  the  way  to  Montfort,"  said  Hector  ; 
"  Come ! " 

And  we  began  to  walk.  Even  the  miller 
seemed  to  me  like  an  old  friend  as  we  left  him 
behind.  We  were  both  exceedingly  hungry,  but 
as  we  did  not  dare  to  ask  for  anything  to  eat  at 
an  inn  where  the  miller  might  very  probably 
stop  and  dine,  the  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to 
walk  on  to  another  inn.  We  had  come  away,  of 
course,  in  the  everyday  clothes  we  wore  about 
the  farm.  I,  in  my  blue  pinafore,  bare-headed ; 
Hector   wearing:  the  common    "  berret"  of  the 


i 


BE  C  TOE.  307 

country  which  Grand'm^re  had  bought  for  him 
when  his  English  hat  wore  out.  We  looked, 
therefore,  like  two  little  peasants,  and  we  had  no 
fear  of  being  remarked,  but  for  still  further  pre- 
caution we  resolved  to  speak  nothing  but  patois 
on  the  road.  The  second  inn  was  a  long  way 
off.  We  had  already  walked  for  several  kilom^ 
tres,  and  I  was  beginning  to  feel  faint  and  sick 
with  hunger  and  the  heat  of  the  sun  upon  my 
head,  when  we  were  overtaken  by  an  old  man 
leading  a  donkey  laden  with  panniers  full  of 
grapes. 

He  was  a  respectable  looking  man,  dressed  in 
a  clean,  though  faded  blouse,  and  his  long  white 
hair  floated  on  his  shoulders  like  that  of  Jeanti 
St.  Loubouet,  so,  as  I  spoke  patois  better  than 
Hector,  I  asked  him,  without  fear,  if  he  would 
sell  us  two  bunches  of  his  grapes. 

He  said  no,  that  they  were  for  the  soldiers, 
and  that  they  were  too  dear  for  us,  half  a  franc 
a  bunch. 

It  was  a  shameful  price,  and  we  had  no  hesita- 
tion in  telling  him  so ;  but  that  was  on  the  sol- 
diers' account.  So  far  as  we  ourselves  were 
concerned,  we  wanted  them  too  badly  to  care 
what  the  price  was.  Hector  pulled  out  one  of 
his  napoleons,  and  the  old  man's  manner  in- 
stantly changed. 


3o8  HECTOR. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he.  "  If  that  is  how  it  is,  you  arc 
among  those  who  choose.  Take  which  bunch 
you  like,  and,  since  we  are  going  the  same  road, 
you  had  better  journey  on  with  me,  till  we  meet 
the  soldiers.  I  have  no  change  to  give  you  now, 
but  when  I  have  sold  my  grapes,  I  shall  be  full 
of  money." 

We  thought  him  very  avaricious,  but  it  is  the 
common  fault  of  our  peasants  to  be  too  fond  of 
money,  and  we  were  not  sorry  to  have  some  one 
to  show  us  the  way  in  a  country  which  was  now 
quite  unknown  to  us.  So  we  agreed  readily 
enough  to  his  proposition,  and  he  relieved  my 
tired  feet  by  putting  me  up  on  the  donkey  to 
ride  between  the  panniers.  He  insisted  also 
that  Hector  should  keep  his  napoleon  till  we  met 
with  the  soldiers,  and  as  Hector  dropped  it  back 
into  the  loose  trouser  pocket  from  which  it  came, 
he  gave  us  much  good  advice  on  the  necessity 
of  taking  care  of  money  when  we  had  it. 

Hector,  never  fond  of.  good  advice,  trudged  on 
sturdily  in  the  dust  before  us,  but  the  old  man, 
leading  the  donkey,  walked  by  my  side,  and  I 
had  to  listen,  whether  I  liked  it  or  not,  to  his 
conversation.  The  result  of  it  was  to  terrify  me 
very  effectually.  It  seemed  that  an  attempt  had 
been  made  the  nidit  before  to  murder  two  child- 


HECTOR.  309 


ren  on  the  road  to  Dax ;  children,  the  old  man 
told  me,  who  were  not  much  bigger  than  Hector 
and  me.  He  wanted  to  know  if  we  had  heard 
anything  of  it,  and  when  I  told  him  that  we  had 
not,  he  said  that  he  knew  none  of  the  details,  he 
only  repeated  what  he  had  heard  that  morning 
in  the  inn.  But  the  mention  of  the  story  led  to 
talk  about  other  dreadful  things,  and  while  my 
blood  ran  cold,  and  I  sat  trembling  from  head  to 
foot,  he  told  me  one  horrible  story  after  another 
of  robbery  and  murder.  I  was  so  fascinated  that 
I  could  not  ask  him  to  stop,  and  yet  while  he 
talked  I  became  conscious  of  a  growing  repul- 
sion from  him  which  made  me  long  to  reach  the 
place  where  our  journey  together  was  to  end. 

At  last,  to  my  joy,  we  came  within  sight  of  a 
field  by  the  roadside,  where,  round  little  pyra- 
mids of  stacked  muskets,  some  hundreds  of 
soldiers  were  sitting,  or  lying,  or  standing  about 
in  groups. 

It  was  the  hottest  hour  of  the  afternoon. 
There  was  no  shade  in  the  field,  and  the  sun 
poured  down  upon  the  gaudy  uniforms  and  glit- 
tering musket-barrels  till  the  stubble,  amidst 
which  the  soldiers  lay,  seemed  almost  ablaze 
with  color  and  light.  But  in  our  very  short  ac- 
quaintance   with    soldiers,    Hector    and    I    had 


3IO  HECTOR. 


already  learned  too  much  of  their  daily  suffer- 
ings to  take  pleasure  in  the  brilliant  effect,  and 
when  we  reached  them  we  found  what  we  had 
expected.  They  had  been  marching  for  hours 
in  the  heat  and  the  dust.  Their  rations  had 
gone,  by  mistake,  to  some  other  part  of  the 
country,  and  now,  instead  of  being  drawn  up  to 
rest  by  a  spring  in  one  of  the  many  woods  which 
clothed  our  hills,  they  were  halting  for  an  hour 
in  the  burning  sun  at  a  distance  of  more  than 
half  a  kilometre  from  any  water.  Some  lads 
from  the  nearest  village  were  bringing  water, 
and  one  barrel  of  wine — the  whole  contents  of 
the  village  inn  had  been  sent  out,  but  that  was 
like  nothing  amongst  so  many,  and  the  instant 
our  grapes  were  seen  we  were  surrounded  with 
a  rush  which  promised  well  for  our  old  man's 
hopes  of  making  money.  Even  those  officers 
who  were  near  pressed  up  to  us  with  the  eager- 
ness of  schoolboys,  and  hands  were  thrust  out 
on  all  sides  to  seize  the  fruit ;  but  when  our 
guide  announced  the  price  of  his  merchandise, 
there  was  something  like  a  wail  of  indignation 
from  the  men.  Not  one  in  twenty  there  proba- 
bly possessed  half  a  franc.  The  hands  so  eagerly 
stretched  out  dropped  back  empty.  Haggard 
faces,  lit  joyously  a  moment  before  by  the  hope 


RECTOB.  311 

of  easing  their  torment  of  thirst,  turned  away 
more  haggard.  The  parched  throats  and  swol- 
len lips  could  hardly  frame  the  husky  cry  of 
"shame,  shame!"  which,  faintly  uttered  by  so 
many  men,  seemed  to  me  the  bitterest  reproach 
I  had  ever  heard  ;  and  yet,  almost  savagely,  the 
few  who  could  pay  elbowed  their  way  through 
the  crowd  who  could  not,  and  they  were  still  so 
many  as  to  give  our  old  man  as  much  as  he  could 
do  to  serve  them. 

Hector  could  not  bear  it.  He  jumped  up 
beside  me  on  the  donkey. 

"  Why  do  you  not  make  him  sell  them  cheap- 
er !  "  he  cried,  commanding  attention  at  once  by 
the  energy  of  his  voice  and  gesture.  "  If  nobody 
would  buy,  he  must  sell  at  your  own  price." 

There  was  a  generous  movement  through  the 
crowd. 

"  He  is  right.  Let  us  make  an  effort,"  cried 
a  voice  we  recognized,  and  Sergeant  Martin  La- 
motte  set  the  example  of  throwing  back  into  the 
donkey's  pannier  the  bunch  of  grapes  he  had 
scarcely  tasted.  More  swiftly  than  I  can  de- 
scribe it  the  example  was  followed.  A  boyish- 
faced  lieutenant  of  artillery,  who  had  just  secured 
two  bunches,  stopped  in  the  act  of  raising  a 
handful  of  berries  to  his  black  and  swollen  lips, 


312  HECTOB. 

and  flung  back  the  fruit  untasted  with  a  cry  of 
"  Well  done,  sergeant !  "  Officers  and  men  fol- 
lowed him.  With  one  accord  the  crowd  denied 
itself,  and  bunch  after  bunch  fell  into  the  don- 
key's baskets.  There  was  a  moment  when 
Hector  and  I  and  the  old  man  saw  ourselves  left 
alone  with  the  grapes  in  the  midst  of  a  circle 
which  withdrew  from  us,  and  a  clamor  arose  of 
"  Give  us  back  our  money,  or  else  sell  at  half 
the  price." 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  surrender,  and 
the  old  man  agreed  at  once. 

"  At  half  price ! "  he  cried,  holding  up  a 
bunch  in  either  hand,  and  in  an  instant  the 
crowd  was  round  us  again.  But  as  he  turned  to 
take  the  grapes  from  the  pannier,  I  surprised  a 
glance  thrown  from  him  to  Hector  which  made 
me  shudder  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Oh,  come  away,"  I  whispered,  "  I  am  sure 
that  man  is  wicked ; "  and  scarcely  knowing 
what  I  did,  I  dragged  Hector  to  the  outskirts  of 
the  crowd. 

There,  notwithstanding  the  reduced  price  of 
the  grapes,  men  were  still  standing  who  could 
only  look  on  in  silence  with  hungry  eyes  and 
hands  thrust  deep  into  pockets  where  not  one 
sou  was  to  be  found. 


HECTOR.  313 

"  We  could  spare  one  napoleon,  couldn't  we, 
Zelie  ?  "  Hector  asked  ;  and  he  put  his  hand  into 
his  pocket  to  draw  it  out. 

The  next  instant  a  blank  look  overspread  his 
countenance.  A  deep  blush  succeeded  it ;  he 
knelt  down  on  the  stubble  to  turn  out  his 
pockets.  The  Aviceptologie,  from  which  since 
Grand'm^re  had  given  it  to  him  for  his  own  he 
was  never  separated,  a  dirty  handkerchief,  some 
wire,  and  some  bits  of  wood  were  the  sole  con- 
tents, and  after  a  hasty  inspection  of  these 
objects  he  looked  up  at  me  with  the  blush  still 
spreading,  and  penitence  marked  in  every  line 
of  his  face. 

"  Z61ie,  I  have  lost  them  all." 

I  was  so  overwhelmed  that  for  an  instant  1 
could  not  speak.  The  soldiers  round  us  asked 
if  anything  was  the  matter.  Hector  began  to 
accuse  himself :  "  I  have  brought  Her  from 
home,  and  I  have  lost  all — "  and  then  I  found 
my  voice. 

"  No,  he  has  not  lost,"  I  said.  "  We  have 
been  robbed,  and  I  am  convinced  that  old  man 
is  the  robber.  Three  napoleons.  We  had  them 
safe  when  we  met  him  this  morning." 

I  had  little  imagined  tlie  effect  of  my  words. 
The  old  man  was  already  out  of  favor,  and  my 
accusation  was  instantly  caught  up. 


314  HECTOR. 

"  Robber  !  robber !  seize  him  !  search  him  !  " 
was  repeated  from  mouth  to  mouth.  Not  more 
than  two  or  three  knew  what  was  the  matter, 
but  each  member  of  the  crowd  seemed  to  take  a 
personal  pleasure  in  the  punishment  of  the 
grape-seller.  The  excitement  spread.  Those 
from  behind  pressed  on  those  that  were  in  front. 
"Assassin"  was  soon  added  to  the  other  epi- 
thets. "  Hold  him  !  secure  him  !  "  was  shouted 
on  all  sides.  A  scuffle  of  some  sort  took  place. 
A  cry  like  a  prolonged  "Ah  !  "  rang  through  the 
crowd,  and  when  a  soldier  near  us  snatched  me 
up  in  his  arms  that  I  might  see,  the  sight  which 
met  my  astonished  eyes  was  no  longer  the 
white-haired  old  man  in  the  spotless  and  neatly 
mended  blouse,  but  our  well-known  tramp,  still 
struggling,  ragged  and  dirty,  in  the  hands  of  the 
soldiers  who  had  rolled  him  on  the  ground.  His 
white  wig  lay  at  his  feet.  One  of  the  white 
eyebrows  had  fallen  off,  the  other  still  remained 
in  its  place.  He  had  shaved  his  chin  since  we 
had  last  seen  him,  but  in  spite  of  all  there  was 
no  mistaking  him  now.  I  understood  why  the 
glance  he  had  given  Hector  had  filled  me  with 
terror. 

Everything     happened    so    quickly    that     I 
scarcely  knew  how  it  came  about.     There  was 


HECTOR.  315 


a  great  confusion ;  officers  from  other  parts 
came  up.  In  another  moment  two  gendarmes 
had  made  their  appearance  ;  the  tramp's  elbows 
were  bound  behind  him.  I  heard  the  gendarmes 
reply  in  answer  to  some  excited -explanations : 
"Ah!  it's  for  something  graver  than  picking  a 
little  boy's  pocket  that  we  want  him,"  and  the 
tramp,  who  seemed  utterly  cowed,  whined  out, 
"  They  are  not  dead,  therefore  it's  not  murder." 
And  then,  as  the  tramp  was  being  mounted  on 
his  own  donkey  to  be  led  away.  Hector  plucked 
my  sleeve  and  whispered,  "  Zelie,  let  us  run 
before  they  pay  attention  to  us." 

It  was  not  a  minute  too  soon.  We  were  only 
just  on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge  when  we 
heard  a  cry  raised  of  "The  children,"  and,  while 
the  soldiers  were  looking  for  us  in  the  field,  we 
ran  with  all  our  speed  along  the  ditch,  and  found 
shelter  under  the  bushes  of  a  little  wood. 

We  watched  the  tramp  and  his  escort  move 
away.  We  saw  the  soldiers  come  out  after  a 
time,  and  march  in  the  opposite  direction ;  and 
then,  when  all  was  quiet  and  we  were  left  alone, 
Hector  turned  to  me  and  took  both  my  hands 
in  his. 

"  Here  we  are,  Zelie,"  he  said,  "without  any 
money,  and  I  know  that  you  are  hungry  ;  but  I 


3i6  HECTOR. 

will  get  you  something  to  eat  somehow,  if  you 
can  hold  out  a  little  longer.  And  you  wouldn't 
like  to  turn  back  now,  would  you,  just  because 
of  wickedness  ? " 

There  was  a  strange  gentleness  in  his  voice, 
as  though  he  thought  he  had  got  me  into  trouble, 
and  was  sorry  for  it.  But  less  than  ever  then 
should  I  have  liked  to  turn  back,  and  I  told 
him  so. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  we  did  feel  very 
hungry  and  tired  and  footsore,  as  we  trudged 
through  the  remaining  hours  of  the  afternoon 
along  the  dusty  high  road.  We  had  gone  out  of 
our  way  to  the  soldiers.  We  had  little  or  no 
hope  of  reaching  Montfort  that  night,  and  unless 
we  arrived  there,  we  had  no  idea  where  we 
should  sleep,  or  eat,  or  how  we  should  rest 
ourselves.  We  were  so  tired  that  we  walked,  I 
think,  very  slowly,  and  it  was  well  we  did. 
Towards  nightfall  we  asked  in  a  village  we 
passed  through  how  far  it  was  to  Montfort,  and 
we  were  told  that  we  had  been  coming  the  wrong 
way.  We  were  as  far  from  Montfort  still  as 
when  we  started  from  the  soldier's  field. 

It  was  a  terrible  disappointment.  I  could  not 
see  Hector's  face,  and  there  was  a  moment  of 
dead   silence  in   the  darkness.      Then  I  heard 


HECTOR.  317 


Hector's  voice  shake,  and,  abandoning  the  patois 
he  had  hitherto  used,  he  said  in  French,  and 
with  the  indescribable  dignity  which  caused  the 
people  round  Salaret  to  call  him  the  little 
English  milord  : 

"Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  give  Made- 
moiselle a  cup  of  milk  and  a  piece  of  bread  ?  1 
have  no  money  to  repay  you,  but  we  have  lost 
our  way,  and  she  is  both  hungry  and  tired." 

The  woman  he  addressed  had  spoken  to  him 
before  as  to  a  little  peasant.  Now  she  perceived 
her  mistake,  and  perhaps  she  also  heard  the 
quiver  in  his  voice,  for  she  answered  cordially, 
and  brought  us  food  at  once  out  to  the  door. 

My  hunger  had,  by  this  time,  become  such  a 
craving  that  the  cup  of  milk  she  gave  me  was 
drained  almost  as  soon  as  my  lips  had  touched 
the  brim.  What  was  my  disappointment  then 
to  hear  Hector  say,  as  she  offered  some  in  turn 
to  him  : 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  am  not  hungry." 

I  knew  well  why  it  was.  He  would  beg  for 
me — he  would  not  beg  for  himself.  I  had  no 
pride.  I  accepted  gratefully  the  generous  slice 
the  woman  cut  from  her  corn  loaf,  and  hid  a 
large  half  under  the  napkin,  which  was  all  that 
remained  in   our  little  basket.     We  could    not 


3i8  HECTOR. 

hope  now  to  sleep  at  Montfort,  so,  at  the  risk  of 
being  taken  up  for  trespassers,  we  crept  into  the 
first  wood  we  reached,  and,  by  the  pale  light  of 
the  stars,  we  made  a  bed  of  dried  bracken  and 
leaves,  in  which  we  very  gladly  laid  our  tired 
limbs.  Then  I,  who  had  been  watching  my 
opportunity,  ventured  : 

"  You  must  be  dreadfully  hungry,  Hector." 

"  Rather." 

"Look  once  more  if  there  isn't  a  bit  of  bread 
hidden  in  the  folds  of  the  napkin.  The  idea 
comes  to  me  that  we  didn't  shake  the  napkin 
when  we  looked  this  morning." 

I  did  my  very  best  to  make  my  voice  suffi- 
ciently hopeless,  but  my  heart  thumped  against 
my  side,  till  Hector's  joyous  cry  announced  at 
once  the  success  of  my  stratagem  and  the  ex- 
tremity of  his  hunger. 

"  Oh,  Zelie,  such  a  jolly  big  bit ! — Won't  you 
have  some .'' ' 

If  he  had  not  been  so  hungry  he  would  not 
have  been  deceived,  for,  though  the  bread  was 
stale,  it  was  not  like  bre^  which  had  been  cut 
the  day  before.  As  it  was,  he  suspected  noth- 
ing, but  lay  and  munched  it  by  my  side,  with 
such  comic  expressions  of  delight,  that  I,  for 
very  happiness,  fell  asleep  as  soon  as  the  last 


HECTOR.  319 


mouthful  had  been  disposed  of ;  and  to  this  day 
he  does  not  know  that  he  ever  ate  bread  which 
had  been  begged. 

The  night  was  fortunately  fine,  and  we  had 
given  ourselves  such  a  plentiful  covering  of 
bracken,  that  though  the  woods  were  sparkling 
in  dew  when  we  awoke,  we  found  ourselves 
warm  and  dry,  and  much  refreshed  by  ten  hours 
of  comfortable  sleep. 

As  we  were  preparing  to  leave  our  bed,  we 
were  startled  by  the  barking  of  a  keeper's  dog. 
There  was  no  time  to  get  away,  and  Hector 
would  not  even  attempt  it.  When  the  keeper 
came  up.  Hector  told  all  that  was  needful  to  telJ 
of  our  story.  We  had  tried  to  walk  from  the 
"  Cruchon  d'Or"  to  Montfort,  we  had  lost  our 
money  and  missed  the  way,  and  having  nowhere 
else  to  sleep,  we  had  crept  into  the  wood. 
Would  he  tell  us  the  way  we  ought  to  go  .-•  In 
our  crushed  and  dirty  clothes  we  looked  shabby 
and  poverty  stricken,  and  Hector  did  not  now 
.speak  French.  The  keeper  evidently  took  us 
for  two  little  vagrants,  and  said  somewhat  sharp- 
ly that  our  parents  would  do  better  to  keep  us 
at  home  than  to  send  us  out  to  seek  for  an  exist- 
ence on  the  high  roads. 

"  Nevertheless,"  he  added,  "  if  you  are  good 


320  RECTOB. 


for  anything,  you  will  be  glad  to  earn  your  din- 
ner by  a  little  honest  work.  They  have  begun 
the  vintage  to-day  in  that  farm  up  on  the  hill. 
They  are  short  of  hands,  and,  if  you  say  I  sent 
you,  they  will  give  you  a  day's  work,  and  a 
dinner  at  the  end  of  it." 

The  eagerness  with  which  Hector  accepted 
his  offer  cut  short  some  mutterings  about  the 
lock-up  being  the  proper  place  for  us,  and  with 
the  joyful  prospect  of  dinner  before  our  eyes,  we 
were  soon  in  the  vineyard  he  had  pointed  out. 
But  to  work  for  our  bread  was,  as  we  soon  found, 
a  different  matter  to  running  down  for  amuse- 
ment, as  we  did  at  home,  to  help  the  reapers, 
while  the  inclination  lasted.  Five  hours'  toil  m 
the  full  blaze  of  the  autumn  sun  had  almost  ex- 
hausted us  before  the  hour  came  to  serve  out 
the  onion  soup  and  bread.  I  felt  too  sick  to 
taste  it  when  it  was  given  to  us.  Hector,  tired  as 
he  was,  was  hungry  still,  and  when  he  had  made 
a  hearty  meal,  felt  so  much  refreshed,  that  he 
declared  himself  ready  to  run,  if  necessary,  the 
whole  way  to  Montfort,  but  I  thought  with  dis- 
may of  the  long  stretch  of  road,  and  scarcely 
knew  how  I  should  force  my  feet  to  move.  In- 
deed, we  soon  found  that  it  was  impossible  for 
me  to  2:0  further  without  rest.     Though  I  tried 


HECTOR.  321 


hard  to  be  as  strong  as  Hector,  my  head  began 
to  spin,  and  my  feet  refused  their  office.  In-: 
stead  of  walking  I  was  presently  staggering 
from  side  to  side  of  the  road,  and  we  agreed  that 
the  only  thing  to  be  done  was  to  give  up  for  the 
present,  and  lie  down  again  in  a  wood  to  rest. 

Nothing  could  have  been  tenderer  than  Hec- 
tor was  to  me.  He  gathered  leaves  and  bracken 
to  make  me  a  bed,  and  when  he  saw  me  crying 
for  disappointment  to  find  myself  thus  a  hin- 
drance to  him  in  his  undertaking,  he  comforted 
me  gently,  and  said  that  anyhow  I  was  as  brave 
as  a  boy,  and  that  he  would  never  say  again  girls 
could  not  keep  their  promises.  So,  with  my 
hand  in  his,  I  fell  asleep,  and  when  I  woke,  I 
found  that  he  had  been  back  to  the  farm  and  got 
a  piece  of  bread  and  some  grapes  for  me  instead 
of  the  dinner  I  had  rejected.  When  I  sat  up, 
refreshed  by  sleep,  ready  and  glad  to  eat  some- 
thing, he  looked  on  with  great  relief.  He  had 
thought  I  was  going  to  be  ill,  but  nothing  was 
the  matter  with  me  except  fatigue  and  hunger, 
and  now,  having  rested  and  eaten,  I  found  my- 
self to  my  delight  quite  ready  to  go  on  again. 

Unfortunately  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon, 
and,  night  found  us  still  a  long  way  from  Mont- 
fort.      We  slept  again  in  a  hospitable  wood,  and 


322  HECTOB. 

breakfasted,  as  we  had  supped  the  night  before, 
on  a  drink  of  water  from  a  delicious  spring,  but 
towards  midday  I  began  to  feel  faint  and  ill,  as 
on  the  previous  afternoon. 

We  had  to  pass  through  a  little  town,  and  the 
sight  of  the  fruit  and  bread  set  out  in  the  shop 
windows  made  me  giddy. 

The  expression  on  Hector's  face  helped  me  to 
recover  myself. 

"Do  you  feel  starved,  Zelie.-'"  he  asked  anx- 
iously, and  at  the  same  time  he  threw  such  a 
glance  of  despair  upon  the  shops  as  I  know  no 
suffering  of  his  own  would  ever  have  drawn 
from  him. 

"No,  oh,  no!"  I  said;  "I  think  I'm  just  a 
httle  thirsty." 

We  were  close  by  the  fountain,  and  when  I 
had  drunk  the  cup  of  water  Hector  filled  for  me, 
and  bathed  my  face,  and  rested  for  a  little  while, 
I  was  able  by  the  help  of  Hector's  arm  to  go  on 
again.  Once  outside  the  town  we  thought  we 
might  find  a  sheltered  place  in  which  I  could 
sleep,  as  I  had  done  the  day  before. 

It  was  the  general  dinner  hour,  and  the  streets 
were  almost  empty.  No  one  noticed  us  but  an 
old  woman  who  was  selling  roast  chestnuts  at 
tlie  corner  of  the  street,  and,  as  I  lingered  a  mo- 


EECTOB.  323 

ment  in  the  delicious  smell,  she  thrust  a  handful 
of  her  wares  almost  into  my  face.  I  was,  I  sup- 
pose, half  stupid,  for  I  thought  she  meant  to 
give  them  to  us,  and  put  my  hand  out  eagerly 
to  receive  them.  At  the  same  moment  she 
screamed,  in  a  sharp,  strident  voice,  "A  sou* 
for  six,"  and  Hector,  drawing  me  on,  dashed  her 
hand  roughly  on  one  side.  She  cast  after  him 
an  objurgation  on  his  want  of  manners.  I  saw 
that  his  face  was  red,  and,  for  the  first  and  only 
time  during  our  journey,  tears  were  trembling 
on  his  eyelashes. 

When  we  had  reached  a  place  where  I  could 
rest,  he  made  me  as  comfortable  as  he  could,  and 
then  he  left  me,  saying  that  he  would  bring  me 
something  to  eat  somehow.  I  was  too  languid  to 
think  or  to  ask  any  questions.  I  fell  into  a  kind 
of  dose,  which  was  half  sleep,  half  stupor,  and 
I  was  dreaming  of  hot  roast  chestnuts  when  I 
was  wakened  by  Hector's  voice,  saying : 
"  Zelie  !  Zelie  !  wake  up  now  and  eat." 
He  was  kneeling  beside  me,  bareheaded,  with 
a  glowing  triumphant  face,  and  in  his  cap,  which 
he  held  in  both  hands,  there  was  bread  and  hot 
roast  chestnuts.  I  could  hardly  believe  at  first 
that  it  was  not  still  a  dream  ;  but  the  smell  of 
the  chestnuts,  the  eager  joy   of   Hector  as  he 


324  HECTOB. 

peeled  one  of  them  and  put  it  to  my  lips,  con- 
vinced me  that  I  was  awake,  that  this  time  I 
might  put  my  hand  out  and  take  food.  I  did  not 
say  a  word,  I  began  to  eat,  and  no  one  who  has 
not  been  hungry  can  conceive  what  it  was  like 
to  feel  life  coming  back  with  every  mouthful. 
The  pain  in  my  head  grew  less,  the  blood  seemed 
to  move  again  in  my  arms  and  legs,  I  felt  light 
and  bright  once  more,  and  even  before  I  was 
able  to  think  there  was  the  delicious  sense 
through  my  enjoyment  that  Hector  had  brought 
me  this  relief. 

As  soon  as  my  head  was  clear  enough,  I  asked 
him  how  he  had  managed  to  get  food. 

For  all  answer  he  turned  his  pocket  inside 
out.  The  dirty  handkerchief  was  there,  and  the 
wood  and  wire.     The  Aviceptologie  was  gone. 

"  Hector,  you  have  sold  the  book  that  Grand'- 
mere  gave  you  because  you  loved  it  so, — and  for 
me  ? " 

He  nodded.  Then,  after  carefully  considering 
his  crust,  he  took  an  immense  bite,  and  re- 
marked, with  a  humorous  twinkle  in  his  eyes, 
"  Not  for  you, — for  chestnuts." 

I  knew  better. 

"How  much  did  you  get  for  it.'*"  I  asked 
presently,  when  I  had  swallowed  the  lump  which 
rose  in  my  throat. 


HECTOB.  325 

"  Six  sous.  They  said  it  was  old-fashioned 
and  shabby,"  he  explained  in  answer  to  my 
exclamation  of  dismay.  "  I  showed  them  the 
pictures  ;  they  said  they  were  neither  pretty  nor 
entertaining.  They  have  bought  it  for  waste- 
paper." 

We  neither  of  us  said  any  more, —  it  was  like 
a  friend  to  us. 

Our  journey  had  become  painful  now,  indeed. 
I  would  not  for  the  world  have  taken  away 
Hector's  courage  by  expressing  doubts  of  our 
success,  but  in  my  heart  I  began  to  feel  that  we 
should  never  reach  Montfort.  Hector,  too,  was 
almost  exhausted.  He  made  jokes  from  time  to 
time  to  cheer  me,  but  he  looked  sad  in  between, 
and  he  had  dark  tired  rings  under  his  eyes.  We 
spoke  no  more  to  each  other  of  Georges  or  of 
Montfort,  but  plodded  slowly  on, — each,  I  believe, 
with  the  desperate  determination  to  go  so  long 
as  we  could  move  our  feet.  Towards  nightfall 
it  began  to  rain  ;  still  we  went  on  and  on,  seeing 
no  suitable  place  to  sleep,  till  at  last,  wet  and 
shivering,  we  entered  the  suburbs  of  a  town,  and 
exchanged  the  mud  of  the  roads  for  closely  set, 
pointed,  paving  stones  which,  twisting  and 
bruising  our  swollen  feet,  added  such  unendur- 
able pain  to  our  fatigue,  that  we  stopped  as  with 


326  HECTOR. 


one  accord.  We  had  no  need  to  speak,  each 
knew  what  the  other  felt.  But  what  was  to  be 
done  ?  We  gazed  in  silence  down  the  feebly 
lighted  street,  and  then  looked  back  into  the 
country  from  which  we  had  come.  The  rain 
was  pouring  down  straight  and  heavy ;  all  behind 
us  was  darkness  and  mud. 

"  You  cannot  sleep  there,  Zelie,"  Hector  said, 
and  we  looked  again  into  the  town.  The  street 
in  which  we  stood  was  quite  empty  ;  cutting  it, 
at  a  little  distance,  there  was  another,  which 
seemed  wider  and  better  lighted,  and  we  could 
see  people  moving  to  and  fro,  but  to  reach  it  we 
must  cross  two  hundred  yards  of  paving  stones. 
I  cared  little  what  became  of  us ;  I  would  have 
liked  to  lie  down  where  we  were,  but  Hector, 
after  gazing  for  a  moment,  drew  my  arm  into  his 
and  led  me  forward. 

"You  must  not  sleep  in  the  open  air  to-night," 
he  murmured  in  the  tone  of  one  who  is  uttering 
a  familiar  thought  aloud.  And  when  we  got  into 
the  light  of  the  broader  street,  I  could  see  that 
he  had  taken  a  resolution. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do.  Hector.-'"  I 
asked. 

"  I  am  going  to  sing  ! "  he  said  ;  "  people  will 
give  us  perhaps  a  few  sous," 


HECTOR.  327 

To  sing  for  money  in  the  public  streets,  he, 
my  little  gentleman.  Hector !  Exhausted  as  I 
was,  the  thought  roused  me. 

"  Hector,  think  of  your  grandfather ;  what 
would  he  say  ? " 

"  He  would  say,"  Hector  answered  with  a 
little  smile,  "that  a  gentleman  must  not  fail  the 
people  who  trust  him." 

He  drew  me  down  into  the  middle  of  the 
street,  and,  as  if  my  words  had  reminded  him 
of  something,  the  song  he  chose  to  begin  with 
was  the  English  "  Home,  sweet  Home  !  " 

I  only  heard  the  first  verse.  As  he  was 
beginning  the  second  my  eyes  fell  on  a  familiar 
face  in  the  little  circle  which  came  round  us  ;  my 
head  spun  suddenly  round,  and,  instead  of  the 
words  of  Hector's  song,  the  last  sound  which 
struck  upon  my  conscious  ears  was  the  voice  of 
Georges  of  St.  Loubouet  exclaiming  in  conster- 
nation : 

"  Gracious  heavens,  Monsieur  Hector ! — What 
are  you  doing  in  this  plight  in  the  high  street  of 
Montfort  >  " 

We  were  in  Montfort !  Georges  was  there ! 
The  next  thing  I  knew  was  that  I  was  dry  and 
warm  in  a  comfortable  bed,  with  Dr.  Charles 
sitting  beside  me  feeling  my  pulse,  and  Marie 


328  HECTOB. 

Monthez  standing  ready  with  a  basin  of  broth ; 
turning  from  them  to  look  for  Hector,  I  saw  him 
seated  in  an  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  with  just  such 
a  basin  as  mine  steaming  on  a  little  table  at  his 
elbow  :  and  by  degrees  I  understood  that  Dr. 
Charles  had  been  passing  in  his  carriage  when 
Georges  picked  me  up,  and  that  he  had  driven 
us  all  to  the  house  of  Madame  Monthez,  where 
we  were  welcome,  as  Marie  hospitably  told  us, 
to  rest  and  eat  for  ever  if  we  liked. 


HECTOB.  329 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

T3  EST  was  delicious,  indeed,  between  the 
herb-scented  sheets,  but  we  did  not  sleep 
till  Hector  had  told  why  we  came.  Marie's 
father  listened  with  the  others  to  our  story.  , 
When  it  was  finished,  he  turned  to  Marie  and 
Georges  where  they  stood  together,  and  said  : 

"  My  children,  you  were  right.  A  marriage 
between  you  is  impossible.  When  the  miller 
comes  to-morrow  for  his  final  answer,  it  is  I  who 
will  give  it  to  him  once  for  all." 

Marie  and  Georges  exchanged  a  hearty  shake 
of  the  hand. 

*'  The  fact  is,"  Marie  said,  with  a  smile, 
"  Georges  and  I  like  each  other  too  much  to  be 
willing  to  make  one  another  mutually  unhappy. 
Now  we  shall  remain  friends  to  the  end  of  our 
lives." 

"  But  that  won't  be  much  use,"  Hector  said, 
"unless  Georges  gets  Irma  from  the  miller." 
And  here  Dr.  Charles  stood  up  and  said,  with 


33°  HECTOR. 

his  kindly  face  glowing  for  sympathy,  that  he  had 
an  idea,  and  that  if  Georges  would  go  outside 
with  him,  he  would  tell  his  plan.  He  buttoned 
his  great  coat  and  took  his  hat,  saying  that  he 
would  not  return  that  evening,  and  he  and 
Georges  went  out  together.  When  Georges 
returned  half-an-hour  later,  his  lip  was  quivering 
with  emotion,  and  his  hand  trembled  as  he  held 
it  out  to  Hector. 

"I  shall  never  thank  you,"  he  said;  "you 
have  given  me  a  happiness  that  you  cannot  even 
imagine." 

Two  te^js  overflowed  from  his  swimming 
eyes,  and  as  he  dashed  them  away  with  the 
back  of  his  big  brown  hand,  he  said  apologeti- 
cally to  the  assembled  circle. 

"  Excuse  me !     It  is  joy." 

It  was  enough  for  that  one  night.  Weary 
with  so  many  strange  emotions,  I  fell  asleep 
without  even  trying  to  think  what  Dr.  Charles' 
plan  might  be. 

When  I  woke,  it  was  afternoon,  and  Grand'- 
m^re  was  at  my  bedside.  Dr.  Charles  had 
driven  through  the  night  to  Salaret,  and  at 
break  of  day  Grand'mere  had  started  with  fresh 
horses  to  come  to  us.  To  tell  my  joy  at  seeing 
her,  the  sorrow  I  expressed  for  all  the  anxiety 


HECTOR.  331 

we  had  caused,  is  of  little  use.  Everyone  who 
knows  Grand'mere  knows  that  any  fault  com- 
mitted against  her  alone  is  soon  forgiven ;  and 
jshe  has  never  in  her  life  been  more  gentle  to 
me  than  she  was  that  day. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "we  have  passed  through 
many  emotions.  For  a  time  we  believed  that 
you  had  been  murdered  on  the  road  to  Dax ;  and 
I  blamed  myself  to  have  left  you  without  care. 
You  have  also  your  share  before  you.  You  must 
take  your  courage  in  your  two  hands.  But 
remember  that  your  Grand'mere  is  always  there 
who  loves  you  as  the  child  of  her  old  age." 

She  helped  me  to  dress  in  the  clean  clothes 
that  she  had  brought  with  her,  and  I  was  sur- 
prised to  find  how  weak  and  tired  I  still  was.  I 
was  glad  to  have  her  arm  to  lean  upon  as  we 
'  went  into  the  kitchen. 

An  unusual  number  of  people  were  there. 
Georges  and  Irma  stood  hand  in  hand  by  the 
window,  looking  so  happy  that  there  was  no 
need  to  ask  any  questions  about  them.  It  scarce- 
ly occurred  to  me  to  be  surprised  at  seeing  Irma 
at  Montfort,  but  when  my  eyes  fell  on  Irma's 
father  and  rpother  dressed  in  their  best  clothes, 
and  chatting  affably  to  M.  Monthez,  I  began  to 
think   that    something  strange  must  have  hap- 


332         •  HECTOR. 

pened.  Hector  sprang  forward  to  meet  us  as 
we  entered  the  room,  and  his  face  was  a  revela- 
tion to  me. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  I  asked,  with  a  sudden  fear  I 
could  not  account  for. 

"  You  have  not  told  her  .-* "  said  Dr.  Charles. 
And  as  Grand'mere  answered  "No;"  Hector 
said, 

"  First  of  all,  Georges  is  rich,  and  he  is  to 
marry  Irma  in  the  spring." 

I  clapped  my  hands  for  joy,  as,  hearing  their 
names,  Georges  and  Irma  turned  their  radiant 
faces  on  us  from  the  window ;  and  it  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  happy  murmur  of  congratulation,  that 
Grand'mere  said, 

"  But  the  fact  is,  my  poor  little  Zelie,  there  is 
sadness  for  you  underneath  all  this,  for  Hector 
has  to  go." 

Joyous  sounds  all  round  me,  brilliant  faces, 
only  Hector  gravely  holding  my  hand  in  a  silence 
I  understood,  while,  with  interruptions  of  joy 
and  gratitude  from  the  bystanders,  Grand'mere 
Lold  a  story  which  accounted  for  all  I  saw. 

On  the  very  day  we  left  Salaret,  she  had  re- 
turned home  to  find  a  letter  waiting  for  her  from 
Hector's  grandfather,  in  which  Hector's  imme- 
diate return  to  England  was  desired.    A  terrible 


EECTOB.  333 


yachting  accident  had  left  the  old  man  nearly 
desolate.  Hector's  three  uncles  had  been 
drowned.  The  little  orphan  for  whom  but  a 
short  time  before  there  had  been  no  place,  was 
now  his  grandfather's  only  heir. 

Our  disappearance  under  the  circumstances^ 
with  the  country  full  of  strange  men,  and  dis- 
quieting rumors  afloat  of  children  murdered  on 
the  road  to  Dax,  was  too  grave  an  occurrence  to 
be  concealed  from  Hector's  guardians.  Grand- 
'm^re  had  telegraphed  to  England,  and  the 
instructions  which  were  telegraphed  back  from 
England  caused  placards  to  be  immediately 
posted  through  the  department  offering  a  re- 
ward of  five  thousand  francs  for  our  recovery. 

Dr.  Charles  was  the  first  to  see  that  Georges 
had  fairly  earned  the  reward,  and  when  the 
object  of  our  journey  was  made  known  there 
was  little  division  of  opinion  in  the  matter. 
Five  thousand  francs  in  ready  money,  with  the 
farm  of  St.  Loubouet  to  come  to  him,  and 
Grand'mere's  goodwill,  put  Georges  very  nearly 
on  a  level  with  the  miller  as  a  match  for  Irma, 
and  there  was  now  no  objection  to  the  marriage 
we  had  so  much  desired. 

I  heard  it  all  as  in  a  dream.  Irma  and  Georges 
were  rich  and  happy.     Hector  was  to  be  ricli 


334  HECTOR. 

and  happy,  and  to  live  with  the  grandfather  that 
he  loved.  Everyone  round  me  was  full  of  joy; 
I  also  ought  to  rejoice, — and  all  I  understood  of 
the  whole  story  was  that  Hector  was  going. 

"  Fortune  has  turned  at  last ! "  exclaimed  Ma- 
dame Lagrace  joyously;  and  then,  with  the  one 
cry  of  *"  Hector  !  "  I  threw  my  arms  round  his 
neck. 

He  knew  what  I  meant. 

"  I  will  come  back,"  he  whispered,  as  he  felt 
my  sobs  rise  against  his  breast ;  and  amid  the 
ever-increasing  cackle  of  congratulation,  I  heard 
Grand'm^re  saying  gently, 

"  It  is  for  his  good,  Zelie." 

Yes,  it  was  for  his  good.  That  was  the  best 
thought  to  comfort  me.  I  repeated  it  to  myself, 
when  I  looked  again  at  the  happy  faces,  and  I 
felt  that  it  was  wicked  to  grudge  them  their  hap- 
piness. Yet  the  joy  on  every  countenance 
seemed  to  drive  me  cruelly  away,  and  my  eyes 
did  not  rest  till  they  fell  on  Marie  Monthez,  who 
alone  of  the  strangers  looked  on  with  pity. 

Our  eyes  met,  and  I  knew  as  one  does  know 
things  sometimes  in  an  instant,  that  she  was  not 
happy  like  the  rest. 

At  the  same  moment  she  started  and  colored 
slightly.  A  shadow  had  fallen  upon  the  floor, 
and  the  miller  entered  the  room. 


HECTOB.  335 

The  scene  was  evidently  a  complete  surprise 
for  him.  His  red  face  grew  positively  pale  for 
an  instant,  and  his  jaw  dropped  as  he  perceived 
Georges  and  Irma  by  the  window,  where  they 
still  stood  hand  in  hand.  They  were  so  happy 
they  saw  nothing.  They  did  not  know  the  mil- 
ler had  come  in. 

I  could  see  Marie's  eyes  follow  him  with  the 
pitiful  expression  deepening  into  pain. 

M.  Monthez  came  forward. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Baptiste,"  he  said,  "  I  would 
have  spared  you  this  surprise,  but  I  did  not  ex- 
pect you  till  the  evening.  Your  answer  is  clear, 
I  think."  And  he  indicated  with  his  right  hand 
Georges  and  Irma. 

"  You  mean  that  she  marries  the  other .-' "  said 
the  miller,  stupidly  staring  at  the  couple  in  the 
window. 

"  Yes,  and  if  you  weren't  a  fool,  you'd  marry 
another,  too ! "  cried  a  sharp  voice  behind  him. 

We  turned  to  see  Marie  Anna. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  replied  in  answer  to  the  ex- 
pression with  which  the  miller  met  this  new 
surprise.  "  You  thought  I  would  remain  at  the 
mill  for  ever  while  you  made  a  fool  of  yourself  at 
your  leisure  in  Montfort.  Ma  foi,  I  could  stand 
it  no  longer,  and  I  took  the  diligence  last  night 
to  come  and  see  my  son." 


33^  HECTOR. 


Then  Baptiste's  wrath  found  a  vent. 

"  Don't  plague  me  with  your  son  !  "  he  thun- 
dered ;  "  I  don't  believe  you  have  a  son ;  or  if 
you  have,  go  to  him  for  good  and  all." 

"  So  I  will ! "  replied  Marie  Anna  smartly, 
"and  to  the  inn  of  the  '  Cruchon  d'Or'  also. 
My  son  has  bought  the  goodwill,  and  he  can  do 
without  me  no  longer.  Therefore  I  give  you 
here  my  eight  days'  notice." 

"  Eight  days'  notice !  "  repeated  the  miller, 
suddenly  sobered  ;  "  after  forty-seven  years  of 
service,  you  give  me  eight  days'  notice !  But 
what  is  to  become  of  me  ?  " 

"Little  I  care,"  replied  Marie  Anna,  "what 
becomes  of  you.  I  have  had  enough  in  forty- 
seven  years  of  serving  a  fool.  Ah,  I  have  no 
son  !  Well,  continue,  continue  as  you  are  doing, 
and  we  shall  see  which  of  us  two  will  grow  old 
with  grandchildren  about  our  knees." 

The  allusion  was  like  tlie  prodding  of  a  goad 
in  the  miller's  pride.  He  evidently  writhed  un- 
der it,  and  the  color  mounted  purple  over  his 
forehead  as  he  made  an  effort  to  contain  him- 
self and  answered  humbly, 

"  But  the  linen,  Marie  Anna !  Who  will  look 
after  it  ?  And  the  provisions  .-•  It  is  you  who 
keep  them  always  locked.  You  cannot  plant 
me  there  with  nobody  ^ " 


HECTOB.  337 

He  looked  so  big,  so  helpless,  so  shamefaced, 
that  a  heart  of  stone  must  have  felt  some  pity 
for  him. 

"  Foster-mother,"  said  Marie  Monthez,  "  you 
will  stay  with  him  a  little  longer." 

"  Not  a  day  !  "  retorted  Marie  Anna.  "  It  is 
for  those  who  feel  sorry  for  him  to  help  him  now 
if  they  like.  I've  borne  with  him  for  forty-seven 
years,  and  I  have  had  enough." 

"  Ah,  yes ! "  she  continued,  addressing  the 
miller  with  renewed  fire  of  sarcasm.  "  You 
think  it  is  I,  with  my  worn-out  eyes,  who  for  the 
last  ten  years  have  mended  your  linen, —  you 
think  it  is  I  who  take  the  trouble  to  renew  the 
rosemary  and  lavender  every  summer  in  the 
shelves.  You  think  it  is  I  who  spend  my  time 
in  seeking  receipts  to  tempt  your  appetite. 
Undeceive  yourself,  I  would  never  have  been  so 
foolish  as  to  devote  myself  thus  to  a  man ! 
But,"  and  she  turned  to  the  assembled  company, 
"  see  a  little  the  imbecility  of  men.  There  is 
one  of  whom  nature  has  made  a  mass  of  egoism, 
seeing  no  farther  than  his  nose,  asking  nothing 
but  to  let  his  comfort  pass  before  everything  in 
the  world.  Here  is  an  angel  of  intelligence  and 
devotion,  who  has  but  one  folly,  that  of  being 
ready  to  pass  her  life  in  his  service.    And  he,  at 

22 


338  EEC  TOE. 

his  age,  spends  his  time  in  running  on  the  one 
side  after  a  young  girl  who  detests  him,  and  on 
the  other  after  an  old .  scold  who  despises  him. 
Oh,  men !  We  have  to  spend  our  lives  in 
showing  them  that  two  and  two  make  four." 

"  I  am  of  opinion,"  said  Grand'mere  good- 
humoredly,  as  all  eyes  turned  to  the  burning 
countenances  of  the  miller  and  Marie  Monthez, 
"  that  this  is  a  case  for  showing  how  from  four 
we  can  make  two  and  two.  What  do  you  say, 
Baptiste .''  —  the  world  has  given  you  Marie 
Monthez  for  a  bride  long  since." 

The  miller  had  been  brought  very  low ! 

"Is  it  true.-*"  he  asked,  with  an  awkward 
attempt  to  take  Marie  Monthez's  hand;  "you 
will  love  me  and  you  will  not  throw  me  over  ? " 
He  cast  a  rueful  glance  on  either  side  as  he  spoke 
to  Irma  and  to  Marie  Anna. 

Marie  Monthez  had  recovered  her  composure 
by  this  time. 

"  I  have  loved  you  all  my  life,  Baptiste,"  she 
said  simply,  "  and  you  know  I  am  a  good 
manager." 

So  it  was  settled  to  the  great  delight  of  Marie 
Anna,  who,  notwithstanding  her  contempt  for 
the  miller,  entertained  a  respect  for  the  mill, 
which   had  caused   her,  as  she  now  avowed,  to 


"IT  IS  LONG  NOW   SINCE  THESE  THINGS    HAPPENED,   AND  I 
SUPPOSE    I    HAVE   GROWN   TO   BE   A   WOMAN."— Page  339. 


HECTOR.  339 

plan  this  marriage  for  her  foster-child  thirty 
years  ago,  when  the  little  Marie  was  still  a  baby 
at  her  breast. 

One  other  pleasant  thing  happened  before  my 
great  sorrow  came,  Grand'mere  bought  back 
the  Aviceptologie  on  our  way  to  Salaret,  and 
restored  it  to  Hector. 

Before  he  went  to  England,  he  in  his  turn 
gave  it  to  me  because,  he  said,  it  was  the  thing 
he  had  of  his  own  which  he  loved  the  most,  and 
he  would  come  back  some  day  to  fetch  it.  But 
of  all  the  rest  I  cannot  speak.  We  hear  from 
him  often, —  I  have  never  seen  him  since. 

It  is  a  long  time  now  since  these  things 
happened,  and  I  suppose  I  have  grown  to  be  a 
woman.  A  little  while  ago  I  felt  quite  like  a 
child  ;  but  on  the  day  on  which  I  first  began  to 
write  about  Hector,  Dr.  Charles  asked  Grand'- 
mere to  let  me  be  his  wife.  He  said  he  had 
loved  me  ever  since  that  day  in  the  spring  time 
long  ago,  when  he  saw  me  coming  down  Esque- 
besse's  lane  in  the  sunshine,  with  my  pinafore 
pockets  full  of  flowers.  I  am  very  sorry  I 
cannot  love  him  too,  but  Grand'mere  allowed  me 
to  decide  for  myself,  and  I  am  still  to  stay  at 
Salaret.  Since  this  took  place,  I  have  felt  that 
I  am  not  quite  a  child,  .and  I  have  tried  to  grow 


340 


HECTOR. 


wiser  and  more  sensible  as  a  woman  ought  to  be. 
But  I  hardly  know  yet  which  I  am,  and  I  ask 
myself  sometimes  whether  it  is  a  child's  folly  or 
a  woman's,  which  makes  me  still  believe  Hector's 
promise,  "I  will  come  back." 


i 


THE    END. 


Messrs.   Roberts  Brothers^   PiiblicatiGns. 


CASTLE    BLAIR:  . 

A    STORY  OF   YOUTHFUL   DAYS. 

By   flora   L.  SHAW. 

i6mo.    Cloth.    Price  ?i. 00, 

"  There  is  quite  a  lovely  little  book  just  come  out  about  children,  -  • 
'  Castle  Blair  I '  .  .  ,  The  book  is  good,  and  lovely,  and  true,  having  tho 
best  description  of  a  noble  child  in  it  (Winnie)  that  I  ever  read;  and  nearly 
the  best  description  of  the  next  best  thing, — a  noble  dog,"  says  John 
Ruskin,  the  distinguished  art  critic. 

'*  'Castle  Blair,'  a  story  of  youthful  days,  by  Flora  L.  Shaw,  is  an  Irish 
story.  A  charming  young  girl  —  half  French,  half  English — comes  froai 
France,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  to  live  with  her  bache'ior  uncle  at  Castle 
Blair,  which  is  in  possession  of  five  children  of  an  aosent  brother  of  this 
uncle.  The  children  are  in  a  somewhat  wild  and  undisciplined  condition, 
but  they  are  as  interesting  children  as  can  be  imagined,  and  some  of  them 
winning  to  an  extraordinary  degree.  They  are  natural  children,  in  manner 
and  in  talk  ;  but  the  book  differs  from  some  American  books  about  children, 
in  that  it  is  pervaded  by  an  air  of  refinement  and  good-breeding.  The  story  is 
altogether  delightful,  quite  worthy,  from  an  American  point  of  view,  of  all 
Mr.  Ruskin  says  of  it ;  and  if  circulation  were  determined  by  merit,  it 
would  speedily  outstrip  a  good  many  now  popular  children's  books  which 
have  a  vein  of  commonness,  if  not  of  vulgarity."  — Hartford  Courant. 

"  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  nothing  more  interesting  or  more  whole- 
some is  offered  this  year  for  older  boys  and  girls.  It  is  a  charming  story, 
in  which  the  author  has  delineated  character  as  carefully,  and  with  as  keen 
an  artistic  sense,  as  if  she  had  been  writing  a  novel.  Her  book  is  a  novel, 
indeed,  with  children  and  the  lives  of  children,  instead  of  men  and  women 
and  their  lives,  for  its  theme."  —  Ntnv  York  Evening  Post. 


Our  publicatiojis  are  to  be  had  of  all  Booksellers.     When 
not  to  be  founds  send  directly  to 

ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers, 

BOSTON 


Messrs.  Roberts  Brothers'  Piihlications. 

A  SEA   CHANGE. 

By   flora  L.  SHAW, 
Author  of  "  Castle  Blair,"  "  Hector,"  "  Phyllis  Browne." 

With  Illustrations.     i6mo.     Cloth.     Price  jSi.oo. 


"A  chaste,  simple,  and  interesting  story,  of  a  pure  and  pleasing  literary  style, 
is  'A  Sea  Change,'  by  Miss  Flora  L.  Shaw.  It  is  of  the  class  of  stories  that 
come  from  the  pen  of  Miss  Yonge,  and  when  this  is  said,  enough  is  said  by  way  of 
commendation.  The  heroine  is  a  young  girl  who,  when  a  child,  was  washed 
ashore  upon  the  coast  of  Cornwall.  The  mission  of  this  little  book  is  one  for 
sound,  simple  living,  and  its  lesson  one  of  a  sweet  life  and  a  loving  heart,  which 
is  beyond  all  price."  —  Bostoti  Herald. 

"  The  very  clever  author  of  '  Castle  Blair  '  has  added  another  to  her  list  of  ex- 
cellent and  entertaining  children's  stories.  Miss  Shaw  always  writes  with  an 
object,  which  is  to  elevate  children's  thoughts  and  characters,  and  always  suc- 
ceeds in  making  her  stories  helpful  and  worth  thinking  about,  by  not  only  young 
but  old  people  as  well.     We  heartily  recommend  this  story."  —  The  Churchman. 

"  It  is  a  sweet  and  tender  portrayal  of  childhood,  and  the  young  heroine  makes 
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a  keen  perceptive  power.  '  A  Sea  Change  '  is  not  up  to  the  standard  of  '  Castle 
Blair,'  but  it  is  none  the  less  a  delightful  story  for  boys  and  girls,  and  almost 
equally  attractive  to  grown-up  readers."  —  Providence  Journal. 

"  Among  the  multitude  of  minor  novels  which  are  now  appearing  (for  what  but 
minor  novels  are  well-written  stories  for  the  young?),  the  freshest  and  pleasantest 
that  we  have  lately  seen  is  '  A  Sea  Change,'  by  Flora  L.  Shaw,  an  English  lady 
who  has  a  special  and  uncommon  talent  in  writing  these  delightful  productions. 
She  has  a  grace,  a  tenderness,  and  a  pathos  which  we  find  in  no  American  woman 
in  the  same  by-path  of  letters  ;  and  if  we  may  judge  of  the  effect  of  her  lively 
little  fictions  upon  young  people  by  their  effect  upon  ourselves,  they  are  not  only 
charmed  while  they  read  her  books,  but  are  happier  and  better  for  having  read 
them.     It  is  an  enviable  talent  which  she  possesses." — JV.  V.  Mail. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.    Mailed.,  post-paid,  by  publishers, 
ROBERTS   BROTHERS.  Boston. 


FLORA  SHAW'S  POPULAR  BOOKS. 


PHYLLIS    BROWNE. 

By  Flora  L.  Shaw,  author  of  "Castle  Blair"  and  "Hector." 
WITH     ILLUSTRATIONS. 

l6mo.  Cloth.   Price  fii.oo. 


ROBERTS  BROTHERS,  Publishers, 

BOSTON. 


^v^.  Wt^M^ottr^  ^torie^* 


^'^^''v'T^'^^W'''''"^^ 


■-* 


"The  sparrow  again  waited  until  the  child  had  almost  reached  him." 

SPARROW  THE  TRAMP.    ^^Sl.^'.'^'S^. 

HOEFT.     With  illustrations  by  Jessie  McDermott.     Price,  ^1.25. 

r>r>TJTnPTC    -RRnT-HTrRQ     PTTRT  mHFR.9     ROSTON. 


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